chew me up, but don’t spit me out

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/53460598.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Regulus Black/James Potter
Characters: Regulus Black, James Potter, Barty Crouch Jr., Evan Rosier, Pandora
Rosier, Lily Evans, Dorcas Meadowes, Marlene McKinnon, Sirius
Black, Remus Lupin, James Potter's Aston Martin, Jaqie Couvent,
Other(s)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Strippers & Strip Clubs, POV
Regulus Black, Wealth, James is FILTHY rich, CEO James Potter, aka
"the Rich Simp", stripper Regulus Black, Getting Together, Falling In
Love, Explicit Sexual Content, Found Family, Angst, Happy Ending,
Sugar daddy/baby dynamics, Alcohol, Drug Use, James' thighs were
made to be ridden, Latino James Potter, Past Regulus Black/Barty
Crouch Jr./Evan Rosier, Minor Regulus Black/Male Character(s), there's
a heavy dose of Black brothers angst in this one, Regulus has a raging
praise kink, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, honestly they switch so
much it's like watching a table tennis match, me and the limos are at it
again, Smoking, inappropriate use of champagne, James Potter has a
stockings kink, James calls Regulus a princess, Regulus has a tongue
piercing, Gender Identity, Genderfluid Character, Regulus uses he/him
but is figuring out he/they and there's a whole conversation about this,
emphasis on gender euphoria not dysphoria, Alternate Universe - Muggle
Language: English
Collections: Jegulus that i loved <3333, i will still read these when I’m old
Stats: Published: 2024-02-03 Updated: 2024-04-08 Words: 98,062 Chapters:
11/20
 chew me up, but don’t spit me out
by damagecontrol

Summary

The thing is, Regulus never lets himself get worked up over clients. Most of them aren’t
worth getting worked up for. Married men. Divorced men. Newly single, desperate men.
Overly eager men. Fathers and husbands and boyfriends and I’m just experimenting, this isn’t
my usual men.

This profession has made him jaded, but it also bought him a Porsche Taycan with cash. Wins
and losses.

But this man? Well, he’s a switch in the natural order of it all.

Or, Regulus is a grad student dancing on the side and James is his regular client…and then
some. How many lines can they blur before it’s all said and done?

Notes

k so here's how this one went: i got a bunch of shit post-sweet poison about how i "sexualize
regulus too much" because i guess james isn't allowed to be attracted to him during sex? or
tell him he's pretty? or talk dirty to him? aka, james and reg aren't allowed to be Normal
Adults™️partaking in an activity adults often partake in. and i, an admittedly petty bitch,
said, "ah, well, if you thought that was bad, i guess i'll just make reg a stripper" — which is
exactly what i went and did :) and then, because i didn't feel like stopping to collect $200
when i passed go, i also made him james' sugar baby. whoops!

now that that's out of the way... don't like, don't read. as is the case with most of my work,
there are mature themes in this. alcohol use, recreational drug use, explicit sexual content,
blah blah blah. read the tags. don't bitch at me. there's angst, but it's fairly mild by my usual
standards. a happy ending for the boys and all that good stuff! lots of found family, and there
will be black brothers angst in this (so don't ask where sirius is; you'll see in time).

this has been a really fun project, and i've enjoyed writing it a lot. it feels like how sweet
poison felt when i was writing that (just less "slice of life"). i hope you enjoy <3

—
 this fic is first and foremost for alex, who is responsible for the art within it <3 you can also
thank him for mexican james and helping with translations :) basically, just thank alex. his
enthusiasm for this fic is the reason it's grown to what it is <3

See the end of the work for more notes

 i’m as high as your hopes

The club’s private rooms are dimly lit. Tucked away near the back, they’re meant to keep
dancers and their clients safe from prying eyes. It gives the illusion of intimacy, though strict
rules remain in place that say clients are not to touch their dancers.

Unless the dancer is Regulus Black, and the client is…well, this one.

“Regulus, baby, do you have any idea how good you look right now?”

It’s said no better than a purr in his ear, and Regulus arches his back. He drops his head
against a strong shoulder. Turns his face into a neck that always smells of some ungodly
expensive cologne. He’ll admit he’s tried to find it, but after testing every sample in the
department store, he’s convinced it’s not as common as Dior Sauvage.

He shifts to bring his mouth closer to the man’s ear. “You’re not meant to use my real name. I
never should’ve told you. You’ll get me in trouble.”

“Love, you are trouble.”

He’s not wrong. Not exactly. Regulus isn’t this…giving to his other clients. He doesn’t let
them call him pet names, but he lets this man call him a whole range of things. It started with
love, but sometimes, when the song is particularly sexy and Regulus moves with the fluidity
of a serpent, it slips into baby.

It’s only when this man is truly gone for him, all doe-eyed and white-knuckled, that he slips
up, reminds Regulus he broke the cardinal rule, and combines his given name with an
endearment.

He hates that he's come to love it.

Regulus shifts his gaze to the man’s left hand. It’s being good where it lays wrapped tight
around the edge of the plush red couch. There’s no ring. He checks every night this client
comes to see him, but this in and of itself means nothing. Plenty of men remove and pocket
their rings before stepping in the club. Honestly, he isn’t sure why. It’s not as though the
dancers care one way or the other. Their job is to help create a fantasy, not fret over wedding
rings.

And yet…

There’s a rumbling groan against his back when Regulus rolls his hips. It’s all part of the
dance, but this client in particular acts as though it’s brand new material each time.

“Let me touch you tonight,” he murmurs just loud enough to be heard over the music’s low
bass. “Please, love.”

He’s asked almost every night lately. Regulus only has so much resolve left. “Why should I?”

“Because if you asked me to, I would get on all fours and beg until my throat bleeds.”

Regulus can’t help but laugh. His breath ruffles dark curls, and the man shivers underneath
him. There’s a day or so worth of stubble on his jaw. Round glasses framed in thin gold that
would look ridiculous on anyone else, but do this man plenty of favors. His dress shirt is
rumpled, his tie long gone. His suit jacket’s location is a mystery.

“You would do that for me?” asks Regulus, his voice dipped in honey.

“Yo haría todo por ti.”

Regulus bites down hard on his bottom lip. “Do you really think speaking Spanish is going to
get you a yes?”

“It was worth a shot.”

Here is what Regulus knows about him: he’s a businessman. Unmarried (maybe). Late
twenties, but if he keeps up the five o’clock shadow, he might pass for early thirties—in the
best way. His eyes are hazel with a cunning sort of light in them; he’s marked Regulus as
much as Regulus has marked him. He’s tall, broad, well-muscled, but not in danger of
slipping into Gym Bro status. His skin is golden brown, smooth and unmarred, but Regulus
didn’t miss the delicate black lines of a tattoo under his collar.

Regulus has wondered for weeks what it could be. A sprawling back design? Something
small at the top of his spine? An eighteen-year-old’s mistake? A meaningful piece? No one
ever lives in his head like this.

The thing is, Regulus never lets himself get worked up over clients. Most of them aren’t
worth getting worked up for. Married men. Divorced men. Newly single, desperate men.
Overly eager men. Fathers and husbands and boyfriends and I’m just experimenting, this isn’t
my usual men.

This profession has made him jaded, but it also bought him a Porsche Taycan with cash. Wins
and losses.
But this man? Well, he’s a switch in the natural order of it all.

He showed up one night on his own. Not unusual—plenty of men choose to come alone—but
still an enigma. He ordered whiskey from the bar, found a seat somewhere central but not too
close to any singular stage, and then…nothing.

Regulus had watched curiously that first night. He hadn’t been able to help it. Nor could he
help the slight burn of envy stoked in his gut when other dancers tried their hand at enticing
him—only for the man to shake his head and, with a small smile, mouth, No, thank you.

He had manners. Proper ones. He denied their most popular dancers with nothing but a shake
of his head and demure smile. He was respectful each time. Even the ones Regulus was sure
would get him to buy a private dance were turned away.

Yet, night after night, he came, bought his whiskey, sat, and then…nothing.

“It’s a fucking strip club!” Barty had complained after closing one night. “Hottest guy to
come in this place in ages and he won’t bite? Won’t pay? It doesn’t make any sense. What the
hell does he want?”

The answer, as it turns out, is Regulus.

One night, instead of his usual seat in the club’s not-quite middle, he sat directly in front of
Regulus’ stage. The timing was perfect—he’d just come back from break, climbed the stairs,
but before he could even set his hands on cool metal, he found hazel eyes behind gold frames
staring up at him.

He had no explanation for the way his heart lurched right into his throat.

The man leaned forward, elbows on his knees and whiskey glass dangling callously from his
fingertips. “You’re the only one who watches me but hasn’t tried anything.”

“Maybe I’m not interested.”

“Then why do you watch me night after night?”

Regulus had to curl his hand around the stage’s metal pole to keep himself upright. “Who
says I’m watching you?”

The man’s lips twitched. “What if I told you I want a private dance?”

“Then I’d ask how much you’re willing to pay for it.”

“Standard is two hundred, no?”

“Is that all you think I’m worth?” Regulus swung himself around on the pole to show off a
perfect view of the snake winding itself around his bare thigh. Like clockwork, the man’s
eyes dropped right to it. Regulus smirked. “A shame. I might have—”

“A thousand, then.”
That gave Regulus pause. He froze, gripping the pole for dear life. “What?”

“I think you’re worth far more, but how about we start there?”

“And after that?”

The man only shrugged. “We’ll make it two.”

It was ludicrous. But Regulus still led him to a private room, performed his best set, and
stood, gawking, when the man passed him a crisp wad of banknotes. After that, it became
their unspoken routine.

Regulus has never felt anything but distaste for his clients. Lukewarm neutrality at best. Mild
amusement for the better ones. He’s had to swallow bile when hands touched him regardless
of the rules. The cold press of a gold band on his skin makes for an awful truth.

But this man? Oh, Regulus is playing a dangerous, dangerous game with him.

He thinks they both might know it.

“It’s been a month,” he hears the man say now. His voice is low, rumbling against Regulus’
back. He turns to press his mouth against Regulus’ exposed throat. He’s the only client who
ever gets away with this. “If you won’t let me touch you properly, then at least let me tell you
my name.”

“I don’t want to know it.”

If he doesn’t know it, then this man remains a mystery. Most of his clients opt not to give
their true names. They don’t know his, he doesn’t know theirs—it creates a mutual unknown.
Adds to the fantasy. He’s no more real, no more flesh and blood, than a creature in their
dreams.

He fucked up bad when he told this client his real name. It was an accident. Some weak part
of him wanted this man to know it. He’s done his best not to look too hard at the reason why.

“Name your price, love. How much for you to let me be honest with you?”

Regulus runs his tongue over his lower lip. He’s close enough to the man’s ear he tastes skin
that’s not his own. “A hundred thousand.”

“Done.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m serious.” It’s a long, pained groan when Regulus reaches between strong thighs to cup
the unmistakable hardness pressed against him. This man’s back tattoo is not the only thing
that’s lived rent-free in Regulus’ mind. Not when he’s felt this pushed against his ass almost
every night he works. “Fuck. Baby, please.”

Hook, line, and sinker—every single time.

Regulus shifts, gets to his feet, and turns. He slides back into the lap of a stranger who isn’t
one anymore. Not really. He knows very little and a whole lot about this man all at the same
time. “I never want to know the names of my clients,” he says, taking a strong chin in his
hand. “It’s bad business.”

“And yet, I know yours.”

“That was a mistake. You should forget it.”

“Regulus.”

“Forget it.”

“Regulus.”

But this time, it’s said with lips ghosted over the hollow of Regulus’ throat. He knows his
self-control is slipping. It’s been a month—how is he meant to keeping surviving this? He’s
not allowed to let clients touch him, no matter how much they might’ve paid for a dance, but
he’s letting this one kiss his throat.

He is so, so fucked.

“Regulus,” said again, sweeter this time, and oh, that’s the tip of a tongue on his collarbone.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, f— “What if I told you that I want to take you to dinner? A proper one. I’ll
treat you to something nice. Something you deserve.”

“Like a—a date?”

“If you’ll allow it.”

Regulus scrambles for something—anything—to serve as an excuse. Because he can’t say

no. He doesn’t want to. But he can’t say yes…can he? So he aims for coy and asks, “What if
I told you I’m already seeing someone?”

He feels the grin against his skin. “Y que, ¿él está aqui?”

“I don’t speak Spanish,” Regulus grits out, fingers digging into strong shoulders. He’s
stopped dancing, most likely because of the mouth on his throat. His Adam’s apple has never
received this much attention, and he’s not fond of how his body threatens to react if this man
keeps it up.

“I asked if he’s here with us.”

Regulus scoffs. “No, he’s clearly not.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

He should not allow what he’s allowing right now, which is the way this man nibbles at his
collarbone. Tasting, but only a little. Regulus’ brain is long gone when he admits, “No, he’s
not.”
“Then I’ll ask again: what if I told you I want to take you to dinner?”

“And then what?”

Regulus can’t help but ask. He might not have a boyfriend, but he has…something. A fling,
perhaps. A guy he met last semester who sometimes comes over, sometimes stays the night.
Sometimes makes him laugh or takes him on casual dinner dates.

Besides, he’s been asked this question before. This isn’t the first client to think he has a shot.
He is the first client to be within range, but Regulus still expects to hear him say, And then I’ll
try to fuck you. It’s what he’s heard before. It’s what he knows will come when the man pulls
away.

So it takes him by complete surprise when instead he hears, “And then I’ll take you home,
walk you to your door, and wish you a pleasant rest of your evening.”

“Sorry?”

“Do you want me to say it again?”

“No. I heard you. I just—That’s it?”

A coy grin, and the man tilts his head. “Did you want something else?”

“I—No.” Yes, yes, very much yes. “No, I just… I didn’t expect a gentleman’s answer. Men
always want something from me when they pay. Kissing. Touching. Sex. They seem to think
buying me dinner means I’ll end up on my knees from sheer gratitude.”

“I imagine you can buy your own meals.”

“I can.”

The man shifts, and his arousal presses harder against Regulus’ ass. “Then I’m not buying
you dinner because I want something from you. If you want honesty—” He shifts again,
laughing softly when Regulus gasps despite himself, “—then I’ll admit I want to fuck you
more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

Regulus opens his mouth, but the man holds up a hand.

“But, I want it because you want it. Not because I paid for it, or because you think I expect it
since I bought you dinner.”

Well. That took all the wind out of Regulus’ sails. What is he meant to say to that? It’s far
better than the men on dating apps, who’ve completely forgotten Hi, how are you? is the
proper way to start a conversation. And it would be a lie to say he’s not at least a little
interested…

Somewhat defeated, he rests his palms on a toned chest, bottom lip caught between his teeth.
“Just dinner?”
“Just dinner.”

“And you won’t make me feel like shit if I don’t want to sleep with you?”

There’s the soft press of a thumb to where Regulus has started to worry at his bottom lip,
teeth almost breaking skin. “Love, you can tell me to fuck off at the end of the night if you
want. You might not like me under different lighting.”

Regulus rolls his eyes and tongues the inside of his cheek. “I don’t think lighting will make a
difference.”

“You never know. Restaurants aren’t known for their impeccable lighting choices.”

“Maybe you will tell me to fuck off at the end of the night. Hm?”

“Doubtful. I paid a lot of money to get you to notice me, and I did it for a reason.”

A dubious laugh bursts out of him. “What? Are you—You paid me thousands of dollars to…
to notice you?”

“Well, yeah. I waited every night, but then you didn’t come, so I thought maybe…”

“Oh, my God. You’re an idiot. I noticed you the second you walked in. Even you knew I was
watching you!”

The man’s brows pinch together. “Oh. That was just a guess. I thought… And I didn’t want to
push, but…”

Regulus shakes his head, fighting back another laugh. “Fine. Tell me. Your stupid name. Just
tell it to me.”

It’s a million dollar grin. Hell, it might even be priceless.

“James,” he says. “My name is James.”

Regulus’ shift ends a little after three a.m. The club will be open until seven, but considering
it’s a Wednesday night—or Thursday morning, depending on how you look at it—there’s
almost no one left to entertain. A few stragglers still linger, but come five or so, it’ll be
barren.

“Just a Coke,” he tells Evan, resting his chin on his forearms. The bar is cool on his heated
skin. His last dance left him a little exhausted. “I have to drive home.”

Evan snorts. “It’s also a Wednesday—”

“Thursday.”

“—and I might judge you a little if you drank vodka at three in the morning on a
Wednesday.”

“Thursday,” Regulus corrects again.

Evan waves a hand. “It’s not a new day until I go to sleep. For me, it’s still Wednesday.” He
scoops ice into a glass and uses the soda gun to pour Regulus’ drink. “Here. Feel free to tip
me.”

“No?” Regulus makes a face at him. “I hardly make anything on Wednesdays—”

“Thought it was Thursday?”

“Oh, fuck off.” He sticks out his tongue when Evan starts laughing. “My point still stands.”

Evan leans against the wall counter and starts drying freshly washed glasses. “Actually, it
does not. I know which client came to see you tonight. And darling—” He sets a glass down
with finality, “—you and I both know you made more tonight than most of the dancers make
in two or three shifts.”

The banknotes weigh heavy in Regulus’ pocket—all £3,000 worth of them. James tried to
give him four thousand, said, Here, take this because you finally know my name, but Regulus
had adamantly declined. Two thousand is fine, he’d argued. It’s our usual.

James hadn’t left the private room until Regulus took at least three.

“How do you know about him?”

“I work the bar, babe. I know every man who’s in here, and I know how much they pay.”

Regulus takes the straw between his teeth but doesn’t drink. “Barty.”

“Bingo.”

“Fucking hell. I told him—”

“Yeah, well, I fucked him. So.” Evan grabs another glass, grinning cheekily. “I always win. If
you wanted him to keep your secrets, you should’ve maintained the polycule.”

Regulus scowls. “We’re still friends. He said he would keep it a secret.”

“And I said, ‘Give me the scoop on Regulus’ new client or I won’t suck your dick for a
month.’ Who do you think he’s more afraid of?” Evan snorts a laugh and starts drying
another glass. He’s lean, of average height, and covered in tattoos. There isn’t an inch of him
that isn’t inked—not even his face, where a small rose sits on his right temple. “Anyway, I
saw he came tonight, so I imagine you’re about two thousand pounds richer than you were
six hours ago.”
“Three,” Regulus mumbles around the straw still between his teeth.

“Mm?”

“Three. I’m three thousand pounds richer.”

Evan pauses, tattooed hand and towel still shoved in the glass. “The fuck does this guy even
do?”

“CEO, I think. When I asked, he just said ‘businessman.’ But I’ve had plenty of clients who
were businessmen and didn’t have three grand to blow.”

“Who the hell is he? Jeff fucking Bezos?”

“I hope not. Jeff Bezos is bald, isn’t he? No, thank you.” Regulus finally takes a sip of his
Coke, snickering at the way Evan’s brows shoot clear to his hairline.

“Not at all surprised your issue with Jeff Bezos is that he’s bald. Isn’t he also, like, sixty-
something?”

Regulus shrugs. “Plenty of hot guys are sixty.”

“Just not Jeff Bezos, apparently.”

“Just not Jeff Bezos.”

Evan shakes his head in disbelief. “Have you learned anything about him?”

“About who? Jeff Bezos?”

“No, you asshole.” Evan shoots him a tired look. “Your rich as fuck client.”

“His name is James. Late twenties. Maybe a CEO.” Regulus rests his elbows on the counter
and squishes his cheeks on his fists, the straw still between his teeth. He sips from his drink
every so often. “He wants to take me on a date, though.”

“Oh?”

“I gave him my number.”

“Oh?”

Regulus says nothing. He takes a long sip of his Coke and stares over Evan’s shoulder.
There’s a mirror along the wall behind the bar, and he can see the rest of the club reflected
there. Barty and Evan both work until four. The difference is Barty dances like Regulus. But
he’s nowhere to be seen, which means he’s somewhere in a private room.

“What about the new guy?” asks Evan. He’s nearly finished drying the last few glasses. “The
one you just started seeing. Barry? Benny? Am I close?”

“No. His name is Benjy.”

“Benjy. There it is. Weird fucking name, so I hope the dick is decent.”

Regulus shrugs, gaze still trained on the mirror. “It’s passable.”

“Ouch. That bad?”

“Just something to pass the time.” He swallows the last of his Coke and pushes the glass
across the counter for another. “He’s nice, but he’s… Well, that’s it, really. He’s nice.
Studying something something history? I don’t remember. I met him in the library.” Regulus
shrugs again. “Seemed easy.”

Evan huffs a laugh and slides the newly filled glass back across the counter. “Low hanging
fruit isn’t your usual style, Reggie.”

“I don’t need distractions right now. This is my last semester, and I can’t be arsed to have an
actual relationship. Benjy is…”

“Nice?”

Regulus points a finger gun at Evan. “Bingo.”

“And James? What is he?”

Certified menace. Ungodly rich. Very fuckable.

Regulus’ type.

“We’ll see, won’t we?” he answers instead, finishing his Coke in a few quick gulps before he
reaches to set the glass down on Evan’s side of the counter. “Tell Barty I said goodbye. I’m
beat, and I don’t feel like waiting until four for him to finish his shift.”

“He’ll be wounded and call this betrayal.”

“Offer him a blowjob and he’ll get over it. Promise.” Regulus slips off the barstool and
snatches his backpack off the counter. His Docs are untied and loose on his feet, but he
doesn’t bother to do up the laces. He shrugs on his coat over his jumper, waves farewell to
the bouncer, and slips out into the chilly December evening.

He tries not to think about the weight of his phone in the back pocket of his jeans. He gave
James his number a few hours ago, but there’s yet to be a text. No Hey, it’s James! or Is this
Regulus? or even a simple Hello. The absence of it makes Regulus’ skin itch.

Was he a complete fool to hand his phone number over to a client?

He knows almost nothing about this man. James Potter, he’d said, offering up his last name
even though Regulus thinks it would’ve been better not to know it. A first name is bad
enough. Then again, this guy also said he plans to take Regulus on a date. Learning more
about him will be inevitable, and last names are usually the first piece offered anyway.

But where’s the text?

“Chill out,” he mutters, unlocking the driver’s side of his car. It’s sleek black, and the interior
is all leather in a dark emerald color. It’s the nicest thing he’s ever bought for himself. “He’ll
text if he wants, and if he doesn’t then he can fuck off.”

Not even he believes his own pep talk, though. There’s a reason his heart lodged itself in his
throat the first time—and every time after—he met James. He’s interested, much as he
doesn’t want to be, and it has nothing to do with the thousands of pounds worth of banknotes
he’s pocketed since this all started.

There’s something about James that draws him in. He barely knows the man—but he wants
to. And that’s the allure of it all, isn’t it? James is a mystery, a puzzle Regulus can put
together if he gathers enough pieces.

His phone buzzes in his back pocket as soon as he sits down. Despite his chill out pep talk, he
scrambles for it.

Benjy
Hey!
I’m up late studying. You off of work?

Regulus scowls and drops his head back against the seat. He presses the Porsche’s push start
button, and focuses on the purr of its engine. Is he even in the mood to talk to Benjy right
now?

His phone buzzes again.

This time, he checks it with a bit less enthusiasm. It’s probably Benjy asking if he can stop by
now that Regulus is off. It’s within his right, considering they’re a not-thing thing. It’s a
somewhat unspoken agreement that the occasional booty call is allowed, but calling one
another boyfriend is not.

Regulus isn’t really sure how this works. Truthfully, he doesn’t date much. Or whatever he
and Benjy are doing. Aren’t doing. Whatever. The point is—

Regulus blinks at his phone. Benjy did send a third text, and it is a predictable can I come
over? moment, but in his distraction, he missed the fourth buzz.

Unknown
Hi, it’s James. Is this Regulus?

It was sent one minute ago. If he replies now, is that too eager? Should he wait? And what the
hell is James still doing up at three a.m.? He’s a businessman, so their hours are weird, but…
Is it a coincidence? Did Regulus tell James when he got off, or did James figure it out?

Regulus gnaws on his bottom lip until he tastes iron.

Two minutes. Three. Four.

“Oh, cut this shit out,” he snarls, unlocking his phone.

Regulus
It is.

The response is immediate. James has his read receipts on.

Unknown
Oh, thank God. I was worried for a sec.
Sorry it took me a while to text you.
I had a few work calls but they just finished.

What the hell? This feels like a weird dating Twilight Zone moment, and he can’t explain
why. He waits for another ellipses, but when one doesn’t come, he replies:

Regulus
It’s fine. I just got off.

Unknown
Impeccable timing on my part.

Regulus
Or you’re stalking me.

Unknown
I mean… Would you blame me?

Regulus
Then should I make your contact name Joe Goldberg?

Unknown
Call me whatever you want.
But who’s Joe Goldberg?
Regulus actually laughs out loud in the silence of his car. It shouldn’t surprise him that James
—Mr. Businessman and Possible CEO—doesn’t have time to watch Netflix. Still, it’s
endearing, the naïveté of it. Then there’s call me whatever you want, which feels like it
shouldn’t go unaddressed.

He types. Deletes. Types again.

Regulus
No one important.
What do you want me to call you?

His heart beats a steady rhythm in his throat. Does it sound too flirtatious? Oh, hell. He takes
his coat off in a huff and tosses it in the backseat. It’s too warm in his car now. The clock on
the dash reads 3:46 a.m. He’s exhausted, in desperate need of sleep, but his phone buzzes on
his thigh.

Unknown
It’s probably not a good idea for a contact name.
James is fine for now :)

Regulus’ curiosity spikes, as does his body’s heat index.

For now?

He hates the way it makes him pull his lips between his teeth in an effort to stop his grin from
spreading. He will not under any circumstances let himself have butterflies for this man.
Agreeing to a date was bad enough. But he knows the horror stories of dancers who develop
real relationships with their clients.

Most of them are leading entire double lives.

He adds James’ number to his phone, opting for something impersonal—James. That’s it. No
more, no less. When his phone buzzes again, his heart drops from his throat and right out his
ass.

Benjy
Everything okay?
It’s been fifteen minutes since Benjy’s third text, which means Regulus has been sat here in
the club’s parking lot grinning at his phone like a fool for far too long.

Regulus
Sorry, I was talking with Evan. I’m off.

Benjy
Cool! I’m done studying.
Can I come over?

Regulus inhales a grounding breath deep into his lungs. He closes his eyes, exhales, and
weighs his options. It’s been a few days since he last saw Benjy. He’s exhausted, but he
knows this conversation with James will keep him up all night if he’s not careful. His ability
to overthink even the period at the end of a sentence is unmatched.

If anyone asks, he’ll tell them sex is leagues better than popping Ambien.

Regulus
I’ll be home in twenty.

Benjy
Perfect. Leave the door unlocked.

Switching from this conversation to his one with James feels…odd. He doesn’t do this,
whatever this is. Even something casual with Benjy is a stretch. He’s just been a bit stressed
lately with the new semester looming. Benjy has offered him a nice distraction during winter
holidays, though Regulus knows he’ll break it off once classes start.

Maybe this is why he doesn’t feel bad. It’s not as though this thing with James will go
anywhere. It’s only a date, something as casual—if not more casual—than what he has going
on with Benjy.

A few more minutes pass before Regulus remembers he’s meant to be driving home. He
opens his text thread with James instead, bottom lip pulled between his teeth again. At this
rate, he’ll bruise it.

He stares at the last text, unsure of what to say. The for now bit gnaws at him, but he doesn’t
have the balls to ask. Nor does he like the way his stomach flips, or his heart does that thing
where it beats a little bit too fast. It’s been a long time since he had actual feelings for
someone, and he’s not too sure he’s a fan of it.
Especially when that someone is James.

In an effort to retain some semblance of power over whatever the hell is happening, he opts
to react to James’ message with a thumbs up. Some part of him wants to scream the second
he does it. Really, Regulus? A thumbs up? But it’s better this way. He maintains control if he
doesn’t reply.

Replying puts him at risk of being left on read, and considering James has his read receipts
on, Regulus will know the exact moment James reads but opts not to respond. If James means
it, if he’s serious about taking Regulus on a date, then he won’t be afraid to send another text.
He won’t be afraid to—

James
Drive safe!
Let me know when you’re home? I’ll worry.

Regulus
Don’t. You’re not my boyfriend.

It’s a biting comment, but it has to be said.

He’ll maintain control over this. He will. He’ll remind James their relationship, if that’s what
you want to call it, is not a relationship. It’s £3,000 in Regulus’ passenger seat and plenty
more of it at home. He hasn’t bothered to add up how much James has given him since this
started, but if he had to hazard a guess, he’s made more in this last month than he has in the
last six, at least.

Doesn’t matter, though. James isn’t his boyfriend any more than Benjy is. James is just a
client. He’s—

James
Not yet.

Regulus throws his phone on the passenger seat and grabs the gearshift in a merciless grip.
His heart races far faster than he can drive the Porsche through this damned city. Even at
nearly four in the morning, London is still busy enough to force him under the speed limit.

For now.

Not yet.
The audacity, to assume anything will change between now and…and whenever. As if
Regulus will simply fall to the charms of a rich man with a gorgeous smile and nice voice
and endearing doe eyes. He’s stronger than that. He can’t be bought, no matter how much
James might throw at him.

He’s thankful he told Benjy to come over by the time he pulls into the complex of his flat.
He’s in danger of freefalling right into a night of no sleep and too much thought. Granted,
maybe he should’ve opted for the half-finished Lego set on his dining table—it doesn’t
require involving another human being in his mess of thoughts.

The Lego set was a Christmas gift from Barty and Evan, and he’s only half-finished with it.
6,167 pieces is a lot, but he’s prone to frequent sleepless nights. Most of the time, he sits for
hours with some cocktail or another, squinting until his eyes cross and he’s tired enough to
fall sleep. His work schedule doesn’t help.

But when he gets out of his car to see Benjy waiting near the entrance of his flat, he puts on a
smile. Benjy is attractive in a boy next door type of way. Tousled dark hair, brown eyes, olive
skin. An angular jaw and a nicely shaped mouth. He’s taller than Regulus but not by much.
All in all, he’s nice.

There’s nothing wrong with nice.

“Hey,” Benjy says, shoulders up to his ears and hands in the pockets of his coat. “Got here a
few minutes ago.”

“Sorry, I hit traffic.” Regulus doesn’t kiss him hello. That’s not what this is. “How was
studying?”

“Good, good. Just getting ready for my exams and stuff. I know I’ve got time, but I don’t
want to cram last minute. You know?”

Regulus replies with a noncommittal noise. He flicks on the lights in his entryway and toes
off his shoes. “I’m gonna take a shower. Give me a sec?”

“Yeah, sure.” Benjy bounces on the balls of his feet after hanging his coat on an empty hook.
“Just let me know when you’re ready. I’ll watch some TV.”

There’s a part of Regulus that wants to sigh right here, but he waits until he’s alone in his
bedroom. Nice—that’s what Benjy is. There’s no passion. No excitement. Just an expectation
that in ten or so minutes, Regulus will have washed off a six hour shift and no longer smell
like a mixture of different men’s cologne.

When he’s done, he’ll go find Benjy on the couch, tug him down the hall, and let him in the
bedroom. It’ll be nice, because Benjy doesn’t do anything Regulus doesn’t ask him to do, and
Regulus doesn’t ask him to do much at all. Not because he wants nice, but because he doesn’t
think Benjy is the type to do what Regulus wants—because what Regulus wants isn’t nice.

It’s rough. It’s greedy. It’s bruises on his thighs and hips and neck. It’s a ruddy handprint on
his ass and teeth marks in his skin. It’s his hands tied behind his lower back and his face
pressed into soft pillows.

It’s decidedly not nice.

His phone buzzes on his bathroom counter as he’s stepping in the shower. Even before he
picks it up, he knows.

James
I’m going to be really bummed out if you’re dead.

Regulus
I’m not dead. I’m fine.
I just got home.

James
That’s good to hear.
Any plans for the rest of your evening?

Regulus
It’s 4 in the morning.

James
And…?

Regulus
My boyfriend is here.

James
I thought you said he wasn’t your boyfriend.

Regulus
Maybe I lied.

James
Then tell him I said hi :)

Regulus well and truly squeaks. Steam fills his bathroom, and he can’t see his reflection
except in vague blurs of color. Thank God for it, because he’s not entirely sure he wants to
look himself in the eye. Not when he looks past the phone in his hand and sees—

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. No. No. We are not into this,” he mutters, rubbing the heel of his palm
to the base of his slowly filling cock. He glares at the phone in his other hand. What does he
even say to this? Sure? Will do?

He’s saved when it’s James who sends one more: Goodnight. Sleep well.
That part of him that’s already in too deep wants to ask, But what about our date? Because
James didn’t mention it, and the ball is in his court now. It’s his turn to reply. Except…

He gives the text a thumbs up. Opts not to respond. Sets it on the counter. It’s just as it was in
the car—if James wants him, then he’ll make the effort. He’ll send a second text. Regulus
won’t fret. There’s a nice boy in his living room waiting for him to shower so they can fall
into bed together.

And wouldn’t it be nice to get a decent night’s sleep?

Regulus scrubs his skin a little too harshly under the heat of his shower. He hums one of the
songs he heard played a few times tonight and forces his brain to shut down. There’s
exhaustion in his muscles; he didn’t sleep much last night, either. Oh, he really should’ve
opted for the cocktail and Lego set combo. At least he’s off tomorrow.

When he’s finished and his skin is bright red, he towels himself dry, brushes his teeth, and
throws on an oversized shirt. He doesn’t bother with briefs. There’s no point.

In a moment of weakness, he checks his messages before he plugs in his phone on the
nightstand.

0 New Messages.

With an irritated huff, he puts his phone on Do Not Disturb and sets it facedown beside his
lamp. He will not think about it, nor will he hope for it. James is a client. The fact he has
Regulus’ phone number at all is a colossal mistake. He would’ve been better off keeping this
professional no matter how much he might find James enticing. The money was great, and
what if he’s lost that by starting this?

Before the rampage of thoughts can sink their claws into him, he heads for the living room.
Benjy sits on the sofa, watching some late night TV program. When he hears Regulus pad
around the corner, he turns to look over his shoulder. His smile is warm. Friendly.

“You ready?” he asks, reaching for the remote to turn off the TV.

Regulus doesn’t answer. He tugs him down the hall, tries not to think of dark curls and warm
hazel eyes and lips on his throat. Instead, he falls back on his pillows and tells himself there’s
absolutely nothing wrong with nice.
 all of my diamonds are drippin’ on him
Chapter Notes

thank you for all of the love on ch 1 <3 i hope you enjoy this one as well!

Regulus didn’t set an alarm, but Benjy sure did.

It blares at 7:55 a.m., which means Regulus only managed around two and a half hours of
solid sleep. He turns his face into his pillow and groans. “Benjy. Your phone.”

“Mm?” It’s a rumble against his back. Any other morning, he might not mind it. Might even
like it.

This morning? Not so much.

“Benjy!” he snaps when the alarm starts again. “Your phone.”

Benjy rolls over and smacks his hand around the nightstand on his side until the alarm finally
stops. “Sorry,” he mumbles, rolling back across the bed to throw an arm over Regulus’ waist.
It’s too damn heavy. “I have work at ten. I should probably get going.”

“That’s fine.”

“Do you want to…? I don’t have to leave for—”

Regulus shifts his leg to move his thigh out of Benjy’s grip. “I slept for two hours,” he replies
flatly. “All I want is to go back to bed.”

“Shit. You’re right. I’m sorry.” Benjy kisses his shoulder, lingering. “Should I sneak out the
front?”

“Yeah. Just twist the lock and slam the door shut. It’ll be fine.” Regulus closes his eyes,
determined to ignore Benjy’s clear push for a kiss goodbye. That’s not what this is. Not to
mention he’s exhausted. He wants nothing more than to slip back into a comfortable,
dreamless sleep.

After a moment, Benjy must realize Regulus can’t be swayed. He rolls away, gets to his feet,
and starts wordlessly gathering his clothes from the floor.

Regulus doesn’t watch him dress. He’s too busy praying the blackout curtains over his
window will guarantee he falls back asleep fast. There’s a period of time during which he’ll
be able to crash again. But once it’s gone, he’s doomed until tonight no matter how tired he
is.
“Call me later?” asks Benjy tentatively, shoving his arm through the sleeve of his jumper.
“You’re off tonight, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m free, if you want me to…”

Regulus can feel the already narrow window closing. The longer Benjy lingers, the less
chance he has of falling back asleep. “I’ll let you know,” he mutters.

“Yeah, yeah. Of course. But you’ll call me?”

“Mhm. Don’t forget to lock it. The door. Please.”

He can feel Benjy’s presence as he lingers. “I won’t forget. Talk to you later, Reg.”

“Later.”

Regulus curls in on himself once Benjy shuts the bedroom door. He groans, exhaustion
weighing heavy on every bone and muscle in his body. Please let me sleep, he pleads with his
brain. Don’t start turning thoughts yet. Just let me rest.

This morning, he’s lucky.

He hears the front door open and shut, inhales deep into his lungs, and slips into a blissfully
dreamless sleep.

The second time Regulus wakes is not to the sound of Benjy’s alarm, but rather to a nonstop
buzzing on his nightstand. Groggy and half-asleep, he reaches for his phone.

“Hello?” he croaks, pushing up on his elbow.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

Regulus sits up, wide awake. “James?”

“Did I wake you?”

“You did, but it’s fine. I shouldn’t sleep this late. It’s nearly—” He pulls his phone away from
his ear to check the time. “Fuck, it’s almost two. I should’ve gotten up hours ago and…”

He needs to stop talking, but it’s hard when his heart is in his throat. James didn’t just text—
he called. He called, and his voice is leagues different—and miles better—than it is at the
club. The lack of bass-heavy music means it comes through purer. It’s deep. Smooth. A little
sweet, even.
Talk instead of me, he thinks, and somehow, James gets the message.

“You’re off today? You don’t have work?”

Regulus rubs the remnants of sleep from his eyes. “No, I don’t.”

“Fantastic.” He can hear the grin in James’ voice. “Then do you want to get dinner with me?”

Oh. Well, then.

“Tonight?” Regulus stills, the heel of his hand still pressed into his eye socket. Stars begin to
explode in the darkness of his vision.

“Does five-thirty sound alright? I can come get you.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to go so soon.” Not that he’s complaining. He’s just… Well, he’s
surprised, really. He’s not used to men being forward about dinner. Can I come over tonight?
is a far more common question than Can we get dinner tonight?

Maybe dating outside of his tax bracket was the way to go all along.

“Reg, I’ve been waiting weeks. Actually, now that I think about it, I’ve invested more in this
date with you than I have in most startups. So, yes,” James says with a soft laugh, “I want to
go to dinner as soon as you say we can.”

For a man as attractive and filthy rich as he is, he’s beginning to remind Regulus of a very
overenthusiastic golden retriever who’s just received its first proper chew toy. But in…the
absolute best way. Regulus thinks he wouldn’t mind if James took a bite out of him, gave him
a proper shaking.

God knows he’s in need of one after last night.

Regulus pushes the sheet off and wiggles his legs. Not even a little sore. He feels bad,
honestly. Benjy always thinks he’s doing something—and in his defense, he is. He gets
Regulus off every time. But it’s a bit like climbing the start of a rollercoaster, only to crest the
hill and realize there’s no dramatic drop but rather a very small, anticlimactic one.

“Tonight is fine.” Regulus pokes little pale fingerprints into his thighs. They’re slender but
strong thanks to years of ballet. It’s at least half the reason he can dance as well as he does
now. “You said five-thirty?”

“If that’s alright with you.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’ll text you my address.”

“Perfect. Oh! One more thing before you go.”

Regulus pushes his thumb in hard above his knee. “Yes?”

“Can you send me your bank info? Routing and all that.”
He holds the phone away from his ear, squints at it, then brings it back to say, “Huh?”

“You finally let me tell you my name. A hundred thousand, right? That was the deal?”

“You’re—You’re fucking kidding.”

James scoffs. “I am not. It’s what I promised you. We made a deal, didn’t we?”

“I am not letting you send one hundred thousand pounds, James.”

“Oh, I could get used to that. Say it again?”

“I am not letting you send—”

“No, no. The other bit.” James is definitely grinning again, and now there’s a laugh building
behind his teeth. “I’ve waited ages to hear you say my name. One more time?”

“James,” he admonishes, but it seems to do the trick.

Because James laughs, something pure and full of joy, and replies, “Brilliant. Now, bank
info.”

“No way. That’s an absurd amount of money!”

“No, it’s not,” James harrumphs. “It’s a completely reasonable amount of money. Personally,
I think you’re worth far more.”

Completely reasonable? Oh, what the hell is this guy on. “I think our definitions of
‘reasonable’ are not the same.”

“Perhaps,” James concedes, but there’s still a smile in his voice. “But I’m a man of my word,
and we made a deal I intend to stick to.”

“I’m not a—a sugar baby.”

James tuts quietly. “Do you want to be? Mine, that is. The offer is open. I don’t have anyone
but myself to spend all of this money on, and God knows I’ve bought more than enough shit
with it.”

“Donate it to a charity.”

“I do that, too. But money multiplies.”

“Not for all of us.”

“Well, if you handed over that bank info…”

Regulus throws his legs over the side of his bed and puts his head in his hand. “You’re
insane.”
“A little, but you have that effect on me. Look, it’ll be on your terms. Whatever you want.
There’s no exchange. I won’t expect anything. I told you that I want it because you want it.
Not because I paid for it. That’s not what this’ll be.”

“Then what will it be? Because the only sugar babies I know are… Things are expected of
them.” He remembers Evan’s brief period as one—it landed Barty in jail overnight. “If
there’s no exchange, then what’s in it for you?”

“You. I just want you, Regulus.” The line is quiet, then James adds, “However I can have
you.”

Regulus has no idea what to make of it. There’s a part of him that’s inherently distrustful of
the world, and because James is a part of it, Regulus doesn’t trust him, either. But there’s
another part that says, Give it a shot. He’s been lovely so far and without anything to gain.
Maybe he’s genuine. Maybe he’s not so bad.

“My terms?” asks Regulus, his voice nearly inaudible.

“Your terms, love.”

He exhales, and it turns to a disbelieving laugh. “Ten thousand.”

“Ninety.”

“Ten.”

“Fifty?”

“Ten, James. You said my terms, and my terms are no massive six-figure drops. My bank
asks enough questions about the money I make now. They’re going to think I deal drugs.” He
pauses, suddenly concerned. “Wait, do you?”

James bursts out laughing. It fades in and out, as if he’s actually thrown his head back and
away from the phone. “No. It’s a perfectly legal business, I promise. I’ll tell you all you want
to know at dinner.”

“Oh. That’s a relief.”

“Do I deal—” He laughs again, and Regulus sticks his tongue out at his phone. “Don’t forget
to send the info, love. I’ll see you at five-thirty.”

James is still chuckling when Regulus ends the call.

It doesn’t hit Regulus until he’s stood in front of his closet at a complete loss: he has no idea
how to dress for a date with a man who’s already seen him in nothing but expensive lingerie
and thigh highs.

It feels like they’ve done this all backwards.

Then again, it’s not as though he makes a habit out of going on dates with his clients. James
is the first—ever. A few have asked, going so far as to offer a measly couple hundred for his
time, but none have managed to convince him.

That’s not why I’m here, he always reminds them. You pay, I dance. If you pay more, I dance
more. But I’m not going to suck you off no matter how much you throw at me.

The snark rarely earns him a repeat client—and Riddle is usually pissed at him for the display
that cost the club a customer—but he’s had enough of being meat in a freezer. Pick the best
cut, take it home, have your way with it.

Absolutely not.

All of this is a means to an end. It’s a way to get him through school. He’s almost finished;
his degree is within his grasp. A few more months, and he’ll be done with it all. Not that he
doesn’t enjoy the freedom his current work provides—it is nice to have a schedule he sets on
his own—but a normal circadian rhythm is a luxury he longs for more than any other.

Belatedly, it dawns on him that he should’ve run to a department store and bought something
fancy. Well, fancier. He has shirts that cost more than two hundred pounds. He has jeans with
designer labels. The problem is, he has a feeling James hasn’t spent less than four figures on
an item of clothing since his mother pushed him out of her womb.

“Filthy rich bastard,” mutters Regulus, snatching the most expensive shirt he owns from its
hanger. “Making me insecure about clothes. I’m never insecure about clothes. I know I look
good, damn it.”

Except something about James makes him want to try. To adjust his curls so they aren’t
careless but rather artfully placed. He spends extra time situating the strands so one will stay
looped over his forehead. Some foolish part of him hopes James will have the urge to brush it
away.

“Don’t be a romantic. Especially not a hopeless one.” He scowls at his own reflection.
“You’re a stripper, he’s a client, and this will be over the second you give him an inch. It’s
always the same. You know this.”

Still, he rubs a little liner on his bottom lash line. Smudges it so it appears unintentional and
adds dimension. It makes your eyes less gray and a little more blue, Sirius told him once.
Kinda like mine.

It’s a pang, a sour taste, and Regulus wants to wash his face. He wants it off. Wants to get rid
of the smudges that, while admittedly do look fantastic, are reminders he didn’t anticipate.
There’s a sinkhole in his head cordoned off with highlighter yellow tape. Black lettering
warns: BEWARE OF BROTHER.
The pencil splinters in his grip.

“Fuck,” he mutters, tossing it in the bin. There’s a small smudge of black on the heel of his
hand. It’s while he’s running it under water to rub it away that his phone buzzes beside the
sink.

James
Outside!
But don’t rush.

The clock on his lock screen reads 5:28 p.m. Honestly, he could kill James for being here
when he promised he would be.

Not that this is James’ fault. No, the issue is Regulus. He’s too used to being ready at the
agreed upon time, only to sit waiting at his kitchen table for some asshole to roll up late in a
car with tires ready to fall off once they’ve reached residential speed limits.

He knows his bar is in Hell. Below it, maybe.

Regulus grabs a black jacket and his keys, then slips into Docs. Not the beat up ones, but a
new pair he bought last week. A quick check in the mirror and—oh, he’s going to lose it. It’s
not that he’s underdressed or overdressed, he’s just…dressed. This isn’t how James usually
sees him.

He feels more vulnerable now in tight dark jeans and a burgundy turtleneck than he ever has
when he’s bare.

“Fuck it. No turning back now.” He sighs and shoves his phone in a jacket pocket. “If he
can’t handle you when you’re you, then he doesn’t deserve a second of your time.”

Dancing is only a small percentage of his life, after all. It was Barty who used to say Regulus
reminded him of an onion. Not in a smelly way—no, no. In a…“there are too many layers
and you might cry on your way to the middle” sort of way.

Never one to be too cautious, Regulus double checks he remembered cologne. Without all of
the body glitter and delicious smelling perfumes, he feels…incredibly naked.

With a deep, steadying breath, he opens his front door. Some part of him knew before he even
stepped out of his flat that James would not show up in a car with tires that might fall off at
any moment. This doesn’t mean his jaw doesn’t unhinge at the sight of what idles on the
curb.

“What the hell.” Regulus marches down the short walkway and waits for James to lower the
tinted window. “What is this?”
“An Aston Martin.” James leans across the center console, grinning like mad. “You look
good. Fantastic, actually. Turtlenecks suit you.”

You look good, too would be the correct and proper response considering James looks
absolutely stunning outside of club lighting. But what Regulus says is, “I’m underdressed for
an Aston Martin!”

“Huh? It doesn’t care what you’re wearing. It’s just a car.”

“It’s just a—” Regulus sputters, then coughs on his own laugh. He’s not unfamiliar with
wealth—and he’s not exactly poor, considering his profession—but this level of wealth? This
is generational. This is a name that’s been trademarked. “This is not ‘just a car.’”

He really should have bothered to google this man before agreeing to go on a date with him.

James purses his lips, brow furrowed. He’s shaved, but there’s still a hint of shadow along his
jaw. Regulus knows for damn certain it’s a delicious spot to nibble on, which only pisses him
off more. Not to mention James’ clothes are…

“Is that suit Tom Ford?”

“Yes. Why? You don’t like it?” James stretches his arm out in front of him. He wears a look
of genuine concern. The suit is an emerald green so dark it’s almost black. “Picked this one
for you, actually. Reminds me of that one number you wear sometimes. The pretty green
one?”

Regulus thinks he might strangle this man. “You didn’t tell me this place requires Tom Ford,”
he grits out.

“You didn’t ask.”

“I’m wearing Docs.”

“And you look fantastic. I told you that you look good! Very good. Then again, I imagine you
look good in everything, but maybe I’m biased.” James’ grin is far too wicked. “I’ve seen
you in almost nothing, after all.”

Regulus fights the urge to make a face. This man has managed to make his blood heat with
fury and desire in less than five minutes. A first, really. “I need to go inside and change. I—”

“You don’t, love. I promise. Just get in the car.”

“James. I’m serious! I can’t—”

“You look amazing, and we’ll be late if you change. So come on.”

Reluctantly, Regulus yanks open the passenger door and slides into his seat. The interior is all
black leather with burgundy accents to match the car’s paint. Soft rock plays at a low volume;
it’s something from the ‘80s.
The engine purrs when James hits the gas, and Regulus tries not to stare at his hand wrapped
around the gearshift. It’s dangerously close to his knee. This is familiar, at least; Regulus’
eyes always wander to James’ left hand. An old habit.

“Will you tell me where we’re going?” he asks, shoving his own hands under his thighs to
keep from touching what he shouldn’t.

“Italy.”

This catches his attention. “Excuse me?”

“You said you like Italian food.” James says it so matter-of-fact, so blasé, that for a moment,
Regulus thinks, Oh, of course.

Except—what?

“Is there… Is there suddenly a restaurant called ‘Italy’ in London? Do you mean ‘Eataly,’
maybe?”

James shoots him a dubious look. “No? I mean Italy. Like, Italy Italy.”

“Italy Italy.”

“Italy.”

“The country.”

“I’m almost positive there’s only one, yes.” James rolls to a stop at a light and flicks on his
blinker. “Our flight leaves at seven, so we’ll get in a little after nine. I made—”

Regulus holds up a hand. “Hold on. Ho-o-o-old on. You’re taking me to Italy, the country, for
a first date?”

“You said you like Italian food!”

“I do! But I meant a local place. Somewhere in London! A place that doesn’t require—”
Regulus waves his hands nonsensically. “Doesn’t require a—a whole fucking flight.”

James eases the car forward. His brows pinch together. “I made reservations… I think you’d
really like it…”

“Oh, for hell’s sake. James, normal people don’t book flights for a first date,” Regulus says,
exasperated. “Normal people go to shitty restaurants with shoddy toilets.”

“But—”

“Maybe it seems like it because of how we met, or because I agreed to be your—your sugar
baby, or whatever, but I don’t only want your money. Really, I don’t.” He turns to look out
the window, inhaling a shaky breath. “And this is… It’s too much. Too big. I don’t want to
owe you something.”
He doesn’t say it, but it crash-lands between them anyway: I don’t want to owe you me.

“You don’t owe me a damn thing, love. I promise.”

“But I’ll feel like I do, and that’s bad enough.”

James is quiet for a moment. He pulls into the abandoned lot of a closed furniture store,
parks, rustles around, and then: “Hi. Frank? Can you, uh… Can you cancel the jet? I’m not
going to Italy… No, no. Everything’s fine. Just a quick change of plans. Thank you. Tell the
crew I’m sorry for the trouble and I’ll pay them double for the hours anyway. Great. Thanks
again.”

Regulus continues to stare resolutely out the window long after James ends the call. His arms
are crossed, fingers digging into the material of his jacket. Who is he kidding? I don’t only
want your money, but here he is accepting it anyway. There’s a fresh £10,000 wire transfer
pending in his bank account.

Maybe he miscalculated. It wouldn’t be the first time. He’s made mistakes, so many fucking
mistakes, but this might be his most expensive one yet. And what if—

“Baby, look at me.”

There’s a fascinating building in his line of sight. He focuses on it like his life depends on
garish neon.

“Regulus, love. Please look at me.”

It’s a plea.

With his jaw set, he finally turns. James’ eyes are wide, round as dinner plates, and slightly
panicked. It’s endearing, really. He looks as terrified as Regulus feels.

“I might have miscalculated a little,” says James, and Regulus could laugh.

Me too, he thinks. What he asks is, “A bit?”

James rubs sheepishly at the back of his neck. “I just wanted you to have something nice.
You’ve told me before that you like nice dates. Fancy things… I made reservations at one of
my favorite restaurants, and—and I guess I wanted to impress you. Do something no one else
has done for you.”

Oh, well. Now Regulus feels a bit like an asshole. He forgot how many truths he’s offered up
to James in the month he’s been a regular. He makes Regulus feel comfortable, and that’s
loosened his tongue more than usual on plenty of nights. How many cards has he shown?
How much does James remember?

Regulus drops his head back and sighs. “You wired me ten thousand pounds not five hours
ago. Consider me impressed.”

“Yeah, but this is different.”

“I don’t know exactly what you do for work, but clearly you make plenty.” Regulus shuts his
eyes. It’s easier to be vulnerable and honest when he’s half-naked. He can pretend James’s
attention is elsewhere. But here in the confines of James’ car, there’s nowhere for James to
look but at Regulus. It makes him feel itchy all over. “I know that much, but I don’t know
you. I don’t know about your family, or what your favorite color is, or why you drive this
ridiculous car—”

“I like it,” James mutters, but Regulus barrels on.

“—but I also know you promised you wouldn’t push me to fuck you if I didn’t want to,
because you want me to want it for real. Not because you paid for it.” Regulus inhales a
steadying breath. “I imagine the same man who said that about sex would say it about
everything else.”

He hears James audibly swallow and wonders if he might be scolding him more than he
deserves.

So Regulus softens, opens his eyes, and adds, “I want to get to know you, James. On my
terms, like you said.”

“Can I—?” James shifts, reaching up near Regulus’ cheek, but he pauses until Regulus nods
once. His palm is warm where it cradles Regulus’ face, thumb brushing gently over his
cheekbone. “It’s sexy, you know. That attitude of yours. I knew that first night you would be
a hard one to win over.”

“You haven’t entirely won me over yet.”

“I know. I’m trying, though.”

“I just scolded you for doing something incredibly nice.” Regulus’ cheeks warm. The
embarrassment hits him hard. “I didn’t—I probably sound like an—I’m sorry. You did a
really thoughtful thing, and I—”

“It doesn’t matter. I should’ve asked if you were okay with it. I think I got a bit too excited
about surprising you.” James grins crookedly, his eyes bright, and Regulus thinks, Golden
retriever. “I should’ve made sure you were alright with my…uh, method of impressing you.”

Regulus turns his head to brush his lips against James’ palm. The answer is a sharp intake of
breath. “It’s like I said: I know your money, so consider me impressed. It’s the rest I want to
know now.”

“Alright then. Change of plans.” Regulus tries not to whine when James’ hand leaves his
cheek to curve around the steering wheel. “Where are we going? What’s good Italian near
here? I can Google it, but—”

“No, no. I know a place. It’s only a bit down the road. A little small, but I know the owners.
They’re really nice. And they make everything from scratch. They’re as close to Italian as
you can get without going to Italy.”
James shoots him a delighted grin, laughing softly at Regulus’ small attempt to lighten the
mood. This time, instead of the gear shift, he settles a hand on the inside of Regulus’ thigh
just above his knee. “Sounds perfect. Should I turn around?”

“Yeah, it’s the opposite way.”

“Alright. I’ll go wherever you tell me.”

What Regulus doesn’t tell James about the restaurant’s owners is that they’re practically
family. Considering his strict no contact rule with his own parents, Evan’s have been
delightful replacements.

“Hi, Mrs. Rosier,” says Regulus when he steps inside the small, warm restaurant.

Its ceilings are low, its lighting dim, and there are tables lined up under large windows. The
Rose, appropriately named by its owners, is as local as any nearby pub in Regulus’ small
London neighborhood. It’s tucked away, difficult to notice unless you’re looking for it, and
doesn’t usually have a full parking lot.

Still, it’s the best Italian food he’s ever had. Not that he’s been to Italy to compare it, but he
trusts Evan and Pandora’s word that their parents’ food is elite.

Mrs. Rosier glances up over the rim of her glasses from where she scribbles on a yellow pad.
“Oh! Regulus. Hello, dear. Are you looking for…” She trails off, thin brows furrowing.
“Who’s this?”

“This is James.” Regulus takes a half-step left, surprised when James reaches around him to
offer his hand.

“Hello. I’m James Potter.”

Mrs. Rosier’s brows shoot up, but she shakes James’ hand. “Welcome to the Rose. My
husband and I own and run it. He cooks, and I do the books.” She turns her attention back to
Regulus. “Evan isn’t working tonight, but Pandora is. Are you looking for her?”

Regulus shakes his head. “No, no. We’re here to eat. James is, uh…”

A friend? A date? Some secret third and unnamable thing?

James seems to sense his hesitation. He smiles easily and says, “I’m taking him on a date.”

“Oh. Oh!” Mrs. Rosier’s face brightens, and Regulus already knows the group text will send
his phone vibrating right off the table in less than ten minutes. “Pandora! Pandora, honey,
Regulus is here!”
Make that three minutes—tops.

Luckily, Pandora doesn’t ask questions. One white-blonde brow arches dramatically, and she
shoots Regulus a suspicious look, but she seats them at a table tucked in the corner, setting
down two menus. “Anything I can get started for you?” she asks, her tone saccharine. She
regards James with heightened suspicion. “Water? Beer? Appetizers?”

“Just a bread basket, please.” Regulus’ smile is tight-lipped. Don’t ask don’t ask don’t ask.
“And two waters.”

“Do you have wine?”

Pandora shifts her weight and takes in James’ attire. He left his suit jacket in the car, but his
button down and slacks still scream wealthy—and Pandora is incredibly perceptive. “Do you
prefer red or white?”

James looks to Regulus.

“Red,” he offers.

“Lovely.” Pandora makes a note on her pad, but Regulus knows it isn’t their order. She’s too
smart to forget something this simple. “Cabernet? Merlot? Zinfandel?”

James seems to consider, then asks, “Do you have any Sangiovese wines?”

Pandora positively beams. “Not a common request.”

“It’s good with pasta.”

“It’s expensive.”

“That’s fine. Can we do the whole bottle?”

Pandora cuts Regulus a glance, and he knows he’s in for it the moment she walks away from
their table. “You can have whatever you’d like with that attitude, Mr. Potter. I’ll be right back
with that wine.”

She has her phone out of her pocket well before she pushes open the kitchen door. Within
seconds, Regulus feels the buzz in his jacket.

“Here we go,” he mutters, wishing he had a glass of water to wash down his nerves.

James looks up from his menu. “Is a date with me that bad?”

“No, no. No, it’s—” His phone buzzes again. “Hold on. Let me just…”

He intends to put it on Do Not Disturb, but he can’t help reading what’s already flooded in:

Barty Needs Dick Donations

Pandora
RED ALERT. RED ALERT.
REGULUS IS ON A DATE.
AT MY PARENTS’ RESTAURANT.

Evan
Already?!
Didn’t that guy just ask last night?

Pandora
You knew about this and DIDN’T TELL ME?

Evan
I didn’t think it would happen in 24 hours!

Lily
Someone explain.
I have 3 min 15 sec left before pomodoro runs out.

Pandora
My little study bunny <3
Reg is on a date.

Lily
As in Regulus Black? Our Regulus?
Infamous ‘I Do Not Date’ Regulus?

Barty
Doesn’t date, but he fucks.
Important distinction.

Dorcas
Barty change the group chat name

Barty
Absolutely.

Barty changed the chat name to ‘Regulus ‘Only Dates Rich Dick’ Black’

Marlene
Why is it always dicks?
I’m a lesbian. No more dicks.

Regulus
Fuck you all.

Before his reply can cause a riot, he silences his phone and stuffs it back in his pocket.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, fiddling with his hands in his lap. “I, uh… The waitress? She’s my—”
“Friend?” James smiles; it’s surprisingly fond. “I can tell. She sized me up in half a second
and with more intensity than our board members. It’s clear she cares about you.”

“She texted the group chat I have with my friends.” Regulus rolls his eyes. The bell above the
front door rings, and a couple walks in. “She told them I’m on a date. They’re freaking out
about it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t usually… I don’t date much.” Regulus’ knee bounces under the table. “They’ll
probably throw a party over it.”

“Do you have a lot of them? Friends, I mean.”

Right. This is what people do on dates—they get to know one another. They ask surface level
questions, probing only as much as is deemed socially acceptable. Still, he can’t help but feel
awkward about it. There’s Regulus, the stripper, and then there’s Regulus, the exhausted grad
student who builds complex Lego sets in his spare time.

He forgets that James only knows the former.

“I do,” he offers, flipping off Pandora when she sets their uncorked bottle of wine and two
glasses on the table with a flourish.

“I’ll take it you haven’t decided on your meals. No matter. I’ll just…”

He flips her off again when she blows him a kiss from the front counter. Mrs. Rosier looks
mildly amused, but nudges her daughter to get back to work.

“I have a handful of friends. There’s Barty and Evan, who both work at the club. Evan is the
bartender, so you’ve met him a few times.”

James pours Regulus’ glass, then his own. “I remember him. He’s nice.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that. Then there’s Pandora, who’s Evan’s twin sister. She’s dating
Lily, who introduced Marlene to our group. Marlene is dating Dorcas, and…that’s it, really.”
He clinks his glass against James’, and to his surprise, his smile comes easy. “To first dates?”

“To first dates.”

After the first glass of wine, his anxiety begins to fade. They forget about the menus entirely,
and he learns James’ parents are from Mexico. Guadalajara, he says easily, though it takes
Regulus a few tries to get it right. Each time he fumbles, James’ smile widens, grows fonder,
and it makes Regulus warm all over.

He likes the way James looks at him under bad lighting in a dark corner of a restaurant with
too low ceilings. It’s no different than the way he looks at Regulus when Regulus is half-
naked in his lap—like no one and nothing else deserves his attention.
“What about you?” asks James, pouring a little more wine in both of their glasses. “Do you
have any siblings?”

Regulus stills, but he uses the distraction of another sip to calm the spike of his nerves. “No,”
he lies. “I’m an only child, too.”

“Oh. Sucks sometimes, doesn’t it? I always wondered what it would be like to have a brother.
Or a sister.”

“Not me.” Regulus swallows more wine. It’s practically a gulp now. “Anyway, I’m surprised
you’re an only child. You seem like you would have a big family.”

James shrugs, finally opening his menu again. “Nah. My parents had me pretty late, and I
was a bit of a miracle child. Plus, Ma almost died giving birth to me. I think they both agreed
at that point that one was enough.”

“Fair. Two of you would probably be—”

“Oi, Regulus!” shouts Pandora from where she’s stuck her head out the kitchen door. “Quit
flirting and order!”

The corner of James’ mouth quirks. “Guess we should pick something?”

“Might be a good idea before Pandora kicks us out.”

Silence settles while they both look over the menu. Regulus has tried almost all of the
options, but he still scans the pages more than once. His nerves are crawling back.

He didn’t mean to lie… Except that he definitely did. Yes, I have a brother would lead to Oh,
his name is Sirius would lead to No, we don’t talk anymore would lead to Well, he left me
behind when I was fourteen, we haven’t spoken since, and I haven’t forgiven him for it.

This is the first good date Regulus has had in a long, long time. He won’t ruin it by hauling
his family trauma out of its hiding place. Besides, he can’t show James all of his cards just
yet. Layers upon layers—and this is only the first one.

He reaches for his glass to wash down the sharp sting of long buried memories.

“So,” says James, propping up his menu to scan over the options again. “Tell me about him.”

For a brief, panicked moment, he thinks James means Sirius. “About who?” he croaks, heart
hammering.

“Your not-boyfriend boyfriend.”

Regulus nearly chokes on his wine. That was not the answer he expected. “Out of all the
things you could ask me, why you want to talk about him?”

“I know the names of your friends. I know you study software engineering. I know you have
no siblings. I feel like the last big piece is this one. So, what’s his name?”
With some measure of reluctance, Regulus replies, “His name is Benjy.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” James flips to the next page of his menu, entirely unbothered. Something
about the nonchalance of it all makes Regulus’ blood simmer. “Where did you meet?”

“At uni. I’m sorry—” Regulus sets his menu flat on the table and leans forward, fingers
curled around the laminated edges, “—but why do you want to know about Benjy? Aren’t we
supposed to be on a date?”

“It’s good business practice to know about your competition.”

“I—What? He’s not your—your competition.”

James’ eyes flick up to look over the top of his menu. He tongues the inside of his cheek, lips
twitching as though he’s holding back a grin. “No,” he says simply. “No, I suppose he’s not.”

Oh, the gal. The way he smirks, like he has Regulus all figured out just like that.

Infuriated, Regulus leans forward a little more and whisper-hisses, “You’re too cocky, you
know that? We were having a nice time, but now you’re dragging someone irrelevant into the
mix. Just sitting there in your Tom fucking Ford—”

“Hey, don’t bring him into this.”

“—so goddamn sure you’re going to—to what? Get me in your bed with a nice car and fancy
wine?”

James’ brow quirks. “Now look who’s cocky. Who said I’m trying to get you in my bed?”

“You did!”

“Not tonight. Besides, I never once thought you’d be that easy.”

“Good, because I’m not,” Regulus huffs. “I like Benjy. He’s nice. But you’re—you’re
irritating. In fact—” And now that he’s on a roll, he knows there’s no end in sight until he
cools off, “—you need your ego knocked down a few pegs, and I’ll happily be the one to do
it.”

“Will you?”

“Yes, I will. Guys like you aren’t even that great in bed. All bark and no bite. Big dicks and
nothing to show for it.” Regulus narrows his eyes. The glimmer of amusement in James’ is
kindling to his fire. “And we might be on a date now, but after you drop me off at home, I’ll
call Benjy and he will fuck me better than you ever could.”

Regulus collapses back in his chair, arms crossed and cheeks burning. He glares at his menu.
If James didn’t hate him before, he sure will now. Things were nice. They were going well.
Their conversation was easy, flowing smoothly. Why did he have to go and let his temper
flare unchecked? He isn’t his mother. Not anymore.
Ah, well. If James didn’t hate him before, he sure will now.

Good job, Regulus. With the way you stick your foot in your mouth, it’s a miracle you’ve
managed to keep Benjy around these last few weeks.

After a brief silence, James asks, “Are you done?”

“For now.”

“Great. Have you tried their fettuccini? Is it better than the spaghetti?”

Regulus is on fire all over again. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“Well, yeah.” James shrugs one shoulder. Nonchalance—so fucking much of it. “I can’t
decide between the fettuccini or the spaghetti. Figured you could help me out since this is
your friend’s restaurant.”

“I just told you I’m going to let someone else fuck me tonight and your response is to ask me
about fettuccini?”

“And spaghetti.”

Regulus can’t help but let his jaw drop. “Are you well?”

With a heavy sigh, James sets his menu flat and leans across the table. “Love, come here.”

“No.”

“Do you want what I’m about to say to you to be overheard?”

Regulus has no idea what to expect. Reluctantly, he leans forward until they’re a few inches
apart. To an outsider, it might appear romantic. From up close, he catches flecks of gold
mixed in James’ irises.

“I don’t care about your not-boyfriend boyfriend. Not really.” James sets his elbow on the
table and takes Regulus’ chin between thumb and forefinger. “Do you want to know why?”

“Yes.”

“Because if he was so great and fucked you as well as you claim, then you wouldn’t be here
with me.”

Regulus narrows his eyes. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? We’re here drinking wine, about to order a meal. We’re getting to know one another.
This is a real date, love. And I really do intend to walk you to your door when we’re all done
here.”

“Then why did you ask me about Benjy?”

“You’re the one who mentioned him last night. I was only curious. I didn’t expect you to get
fired up about it.”

Regulus runs his tongue over his bottom lip, and James’ grip on his chin tightens. “I’m not
going to call him.”

“I know.” Before Regulus can protest, he continues, “Be honest with me. You said he was
over last night. Did you sleep with him?”

“And if I did?”

“Yeah, see, that’s the thing. If I were Benjy, I would’ve left a mark. A whole line of them,
actually. Right…” He shifts to press his thumb over Regulus’ jugular vein. “Here.”

Regulus tries to swallow, but his throat has gone dry. He desperately needs a drink, but he’s
held captive by the heated look in James’ eyes. “I can’t,” he manages. “Because of work. I
have to…”

“We both know you’re using that as an excuse.” He presses his thumb in a little harder. His
grin is sly as a fox’s. “Your heart is racing.”

“Because you pissed me off.”

“And your pupils are blown.”

Regulus scowls and finally pulls away, painfully aware of how right James is. He wouldn’t be
here if Benjy was someone he wanted to keep around. To go on dates like this with. Just
something to pass the time, he’d said to Evan.

So what does that make this budding thing he’s started with James?

He reaches for his wine and swallows the last of it in one gulp. “Get the fettuccini,” he
mutters, reaching for the bottle. It’s almost empty. “I’ll get the spaghetti.”

The rest of their dinner isn’t a monumental disaster despite Regulus’ brief temper flare. He
chalks it up to nerves and wine, which are not a great combination. He’s known to say things
he doesn’t mean when it’s alcohol loosening his generally put-together composure. It’s only
made worse when he’s nervous.

But once James’ fettuccini and his spaghetti arrive, it’s easy again. They order another bottle
of wine, and James tells him about his father’s invention some twenty years ago.

“It started the whole empire,” he says, twirling fettuccini noodles on his fork. “Pa is brilliant.
Had all of these ideas and built his company from the ground up. He and Ma moved here
from Mexico to try their hand at business, and it worked.” He shakes his head, fondness
written in every feature. “He still drives the same car. It’s a ninety-three something. Keep
telling him to get a new one, but…”

“How could he when you’re using up all of the money on an Aston Martin?” quips Regulus,
unable to completely hide his smile behind the rim of his wine glass.
James points his fork, and the noodle wrapped around it unwinds. “And on you. You’re a
pricey investment, love.”

“Mm. A better ride than an Aston Martin, though.” He throws his head back with a full laugh
when James chokes on the forkful of fettuccini he’d just shoved in his mouth. “Oops.”

“That was calculated,” James manages between coughs. He pushes up his glasses to wipe at
his eyes and reaches for his wine. “Absolutely foul of you.”

Regulus’ cheeks start to hurt from smiling so wide for so long.

For the first time in what might be ever, Regulus doesn’t want a date to end. This one has
been…good. Better than good, actually. He hasn’t once thought to check his phone, though
he’s sure no less than 500 messages are waiting for him. And a look at the clock—9:03 p.m.
—has him disappointed rather than thankful.

He wouldn’t mind staying up all night with James. The lack of sleep would be worth it if they
could keep talking. He didn’t expect to find James’ business so interesting, but he has. The
mind James has for investments, for startups, for ways to make his money work for him…
It’s given his father the freedom to semi-retire early and leave the majority of the company’s
planning to his son.

“He taught me well,” James explained over dessert. “My parents spoiled me, but within
reason. I didn’t get fancy things or a bunch of money without working for it. Mowed lawns,
walked dogs, helped clean yards. And when I turned eighteen, he sent me to uni. I had a job
then, too.”

“He didn’t help you out?”

“Sure, but not frivolously. He wanted to make sure I understood the value of it all.”

Regulus hadn’t been able to stop himself from pointing out James’ father might not be too
keen to know who he spends his money on now.

But to that, James had only shrugged and replied, “You’re worth it to me, so he wouldn’t
care. He’s spent far more on my mum. Who do you think I learned it from?”

The car ride home is quiet, but it’s not awkward. James hums along with a song on the radio.
Regulus marvels at home smooth a drive it is. And when James brings the car to a stop in
front of his flat, he realizes with a start that he doesn’t want to get out. He wants to stay here
where it’s warm, and where James’ hand rests comfortably on his thigh.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “For a nice evening and a fun date.”

“Of course. I had a great time.” Regulus buries a soft noise when James’ hand squeezes his
thigh—then lets go. “Your friend is nice. It’s neat she helps run her parents’ restaurant.”

Regulus picks at a loose thread in his jeans. “Yeah. Her and Evan plan to sell it when they
pass, though. That’ll be a while from now, but neither of them have any real interest in
cooking. Pandora wants to open a clothing store, and Evan likes bartending.”

“Oh. That’s unfortunate. The food is incredible.”

“Their parents are upset about it, too. It’s a long story. A complex one.”

James shifts in his seat. Regulus doesn’t look at him. “And your story? Is it a long and
complex one?”

“Something like that.”

“We spent most of the night talking about me. Don’t you want to tell me a little more about
you?”

“No. Not really.”

Where do I start? With my shitty parents? With the brother I lied about? Or maybe with uni,
where I—

“Regulus. You’re doing it again.”

“What?”

James shifts once more, this time leaning an elbow on the center console. He reaches out to
tuck a finger under Regulus’ chin and turn his face. “You spiral. Your eyes get all distant and
you start biting your bottom lip so hard I think you’ll bite it right off.”

“Oh,” is all Regulus can manage. James is regarding him intensely again, and he feels too
damn vulnerable like this. “I just… Not yet. My family is complicated. A mess, actually. I’d
prefer to tell you later. Much later.”

“That’s fine, but you should know you’re incredibly interesting to me. You’re not the only
one who wants to know everything.”

It feels wrong to exclude himself from the equation, but Regulus can’t open his mouth. He
can’t tell James anything that might make him wonder why the hell he took a chance on
Regulus in the first place. All he can say is, “I’m not that interesting. You’ll see.”

It’s the closing of a curtain. The end of a show.

With a slightly defeated sigh, James says, “Come on. I’ll walk you to your door.”

Regulus’ heart leaps into his throat. This, he realizes, is why he doesn’t want the date to end.
Because this is it—this is the moment, he thinks when James turns off the car, when it all
comes crumbling down. It’s always the same: I’ll walk you to your door turns into let me
come in turns into come on, baby, just let me fuck you turns into angry rejection and bitter
insults. No one wants you anyway. You’re all used up.

He doesn’t have the energy for that tonight. It was a good evening. A nice evening, all things
considered. The warmth of James’ laughter and the brightness of his smile are still fresh.
Even without the club lights, James isn’t merely handsome—he’s gorgeous. He’s kind and
gentle, and the type of person who holds a little ball of infectious light in his chest.

Regulus doesn’t want to ruin this so soon.

“It’s okay,” he says in a hurry, reaching out to grab James’ arm. “I can walk myself in.”

James frowns at where Regulus’ fingers circle his wrist. “You can, but that’s not why I’m
walking you to your door. Come on. I told you I would.”

“James, no, it’s—”

He halts when he’s half out of the car and turns around slowly to look at Regulus. “What’s
wrong?”

“It’s nothing. You just—You can’t, okay?”

“That’s not really a reason.”

Regulus fights to keep his breathing even. “Because when men get to my door, they all want
the exact same thing. So it’s better you don’t. If you don’t, then this… It’s not ruined.”

James regards him for a moment, expression carefully blank. “What do you want?”

“What?”

“What do you want?” He shuts the door so the rest of the world fades away. It’s silent now
that the car is off and the radio no longer plays.

Regulus feels pulled apart and put on display. “I… I don’t understand what you mean.”

“If you want me to take you inside and fuck you, I’ll do it. I’ll lay you out for hours. If you
want me to leave, then I can do that, too. You call the shots. It’s whatever you want.”

“Why?” he asks quietly, unable to stop himself. “Why are you letting me decide?”

James reaches out to gently flick the tip of Regulus’ nose, startling him. “You like control.
It’s the most obvious thing about you. And you also like to make assumptions. About me,
about the world, about the damn postman, I’m sure. Be honest. You’ve already convinced
yourself I’m terrible in bed and will treat you as awfully as the rest, haven’t you?”

Regulus’ silence is answer enough.

“You create boxes for everyone and feel like you’ve won when they fit right into them. Your
assumptions become fact.”
He has the distinct feeling James might’ve figured out more of him that he thought.

“How about this? You can have your control. Keep your assumptions.”

Regulus’ breathing goes a bit uneven when James grips his chin again—unforgiving, but not
cruel.

“We’ll go on more dates. Do this nice and slow. Get to know one another. And when you’re
tired of holding all the cards and pulling all of the strings, that is when I’ll fuck you. But not
before, because until you give up all of that control, you’ll just be waiting for me to prove
you right.”

“And if you get bored?”

“I won’t,” James says simply. “You like control, but I like to win. And a win to me will be
proving to you that I’m not like every other guy you’ve been with. I’m happy to wait until
you realize it.”

Regulus sets his jaw. There’s wine on his breath; he can smell it on James’, too. “And if I
don’t?”

“It’s all up to you, love.”

He’s forgotten about the rest of the world. He doesn’t know if it’s night or day or something
in-between outside the confines of James’ car. All he knows is James, who watches him with
a sparkle in his eyes behind his glasses. There’s no hint of malice. He likes this—the way
Regulus’ breath has quickened, how his cheeks are surely tinged pink.

“Okay,” he whispers, and James drops his hand.

The warmth of it lingers.

“Do you have work tomorrow?” asks James, leaning back in his seat.

“I don’t, but every Friday night is movie night with my friends, so I’ll be busy.”

“Ah. Bummer, that. I was hoping we could go on another date.”

“Already?” Regulus rolls his eyes. “We just finished one.”

“And I had a brilliant time and want to go on another. Is that bad?”

Regulus ducks his head to hide the start of his smile. “No. It’s not. But it’ll have to be another
day.”

“That’s fine. I’ll wait for you to tell me when.” James nudges his knee gently. “So, can I walk
you to your door or would you prefer I don’t?”

“Don’t.” Regulus opens the car door, but before he steps out, he says, “Goodnight, James.
Thank you again for the date. And let me know when you’re home.”
There’s a bit of mischief in James’ smile. “Sleep well. Dream of me, won’t you?”

Regulus scoffs. “There’s nothing to dream about.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

Before the tone of James’ voice makes him get back in the car, lean across the console, and
kiss him, Regulus gets out and hurries up the short walkway to his door. He unlocks it in
record time and slams it shut behind him, slumping against it with a heavy sigh. He waits
until he hears the purr of James’ car before he toes off his boots and hangs his jacket on a
hook.

In truth, he isn’t sure what to make of James.

He mulls the night over while going through the motions of his nighttime routine. He tries
not to think about the way he snapped at James over dinner, or about the confident way James
promised to lay him out for hours. It’s the best date he’s ever been on, but it’s the most
confusing, too.

Your assumptions become fact.

Don’t they, though? That’s how it’s always been. His past is muddled with bad decisions and
even worse people, from his parents to friends who nearly ruined his life. He’s lucky Barty
and Evan found him when they did. But outside of this new family he’s made for himself, the
world always acts exactly as he expects it to.

What makes James any different from the lot of them?

He settles in bed a little before ten. There’s a text from James telling him he’s home. Regulus
gives it a thumbs up but doesn’t send anything back. He’s too busy scrolling through the
group chat’s 482 messages sent over the hours he had his phone on silent. He doesn’t respond
to any of their questions, but he laughs a few times at a handful of their messages.

When he’s finished catching up, he sets his phone on his nightstand and stares at the ceiling
with his hands behind his head.

It’s all up to you, love.

If that’s the case, then the answer is simple. He’ll play this game longer. He’ll outlast James.
He won’t give an inch no matter how much he might want to. They’ll go on dates, and in
time, James will grow bored. He’ll beg just as they all do. When it comes time, he’ll crumble
—and all of Regulus’ assumptions will become fact.

After all, it’s not only control that he likes.

He likes winning, too.

 last night really was the cherry on the cake
Chapter Notes

happy valentine's day <3

there's an art surprise from alex at the end!

“You lied to him about Sirius?”

Regulus ducks left, then right to snatch a chocolate-covered strawberry and simultaneously
avoid Lily’s well-aimed punch. “I might’ve,” he admits around a mouthful of fruit and
chocolate. “I’ll be honest with him if it ever gets to that point. But right now, I don’t feel like
trauma dumping the House of Black in his lap.”

“I think he’ll take anything in his lap so long as it involves you,” mutters Evan, grabbing a
beer from the fridge. He sets the top against the counter’s edge and smashes the heel of his
hand down to pop off the cap. Then he hands it to Barty, who sits on a barstool with his
elbows on a high counter, watching the goings on in their kitchen.

Barty and Evan’s flat is located a ten minute drive from Regulus’, just down the street from
Lily and Pandora’s, and within three stops of Marlene and Dorcas’ station. Though they often
rotate who hosts Friday Film Night, nine times out of ten, it’s Barty and Evan who have the
honor.

We have the best kitchen, the best liquor, and the best couch, Evan had argued once. No one
could disagree with him.

“You do realize your name is not exactly inconspicuous, right?” asks Marlene from where
she sits next to Barty on another stool. “You’re no John Smith. The name Regulus is, like,
one in every hundred thousand people. And you’re a Black.”

“Thank you for reminding me.” Regulus glowers and takes a final bite of his chocolate-
covered strawberry. He debates reaching for another despite Lily’s warning glance. “But I
don’t think he’s put two and two together. I told him I’m an only child, and he didn’t bat an
eye. I’m sure he doesn’t expect to find a member of the Black family in a strip club.”

“You really think the James Potter, heir to an empire, doesn’t know who the Regulus Black,
heir to an even bigger empire, is?” deadpans Marlene. Her disbelieving expression is
mirrored by Dorcas, who sits beside her girlfriend. The three of them—Dorcas, Marlene, and
Barty—look entirely unimpressed.

“I’m not an heir anymore. They made that clear when I walked out. I’ve been disinherited for
years.”
Pandora, who’s busy situating her charcuterie board, huffs a laugh. “You’ll always be an heir,
Reggie. Just like Sirius will always be your brother. You should tell James you lied before he
finds out himself. He’s been honest with you, hasn’t he?”

“We’re not dating. It doesn’t matter if he finds out,” Regulus argues defensively. He grabs a
bottle of tequila from the freezer and one of Barty’s many shot glasses lined up on the
counter. “We’re just…going on dates.”

“That’s the literal definition of ‘dating.’ Pour me one, too.” Barty reaches over the counter
and pushes a second shot glass towards Regulus. “Which brings me to our next issue of the
evening: are you still fucking Benjy?”

“Ugh, Reggie, not him!” the girls lament in unison. It makes Barty and Evan howl with
laughter, and Regulus downs both his and Barty’s shot. He knew this would be on the night’s
discussion docket, but he hates it just the same.

“Yes,” he snaps. “I am still fucking him. Sometimes.”

Evan makes a gagging noise. He pushes a third shot glass towards Regulus. “Is the sex still—
what’s the word you use? Oh, right. Nice?”

“Yes. Actually, it’s great.”

“Did you know that when you lie, you get this weird little eye twitch?” Marlene asks,
snickering when Dorcas nudges her to shush. “Doesn’t matter if you’re lying to someone else
or yourself—you twitch. Every time.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do,” half the room agrees, and not for the first time, Regulus thinks he might be
outnumbered.

Severely outnumbered.

He mumbles, “I hate you all,” and pours three shots for himself, Barty, and Evan. Reluctantly,
he hands them over, clinks their glasses, and lets the liquor singe a trail down his throat.
“What does Benjy have to do with any of this?”

“Just wondering when you plan to drop the poor sod, or if you’re going to keep pretending
like you don’t rub one out to the thought of Ja—Fuck, ow!” Evan rubs at the middle of his
forehead where a bright red mark and a welt bloom.

If there’s one thing Regulus has held onto from his childhood, it’s his mother’s concussion-
inducing forehead flick.

“I do not get off to the thought of James Potter.”

“Oh, my turn,” Barty says, nudging Marlene with a conspiratorial grin. “Reg, darling, did you
know that when you lie specifically about sex, your pale ass turns redder than the strawberry
you just ate?”
“You know what? Fuck you too, Crouch.”

It’s an answering chorus of laughter entirely unconcerned with his bitter scowl.

Even though he points a threatening finger at Barty, he knows there’s no point in denying it
further. He woke up this morning, pressed his forehead against cold tile while his bathroom
filled with steam, and let his eyes roll back as he imagined his hand was James’.

He came harder than he has in weeks.

“Don’t you think James might be a little upset to find out he’s dropping money on someone
with a trust fund of their own?” asks Lily. She helps Pandora finish the charcuterie board,
adding her chocolate-covered strawberries to an empty corner.

“I don’t have a trust fund,” Regulus reminds them all for the thousandth time. “Not
anymore.”

“It’s cute you think your psycho, bloodline-obsessed parents disowned both their sons. I
expect sizable monetary compensation for dealing with your bullshit when that trust fund
hits. I don’t care how long I have to wait.” Barty points to the tequila bottle clutched in
Regulus’ hand and adds, “In the meantime, hit me.”

Regulus pours two more shots. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Fine. Tell us about James. And I do mean all about him.”

“It’s fucking weird when you wiggle your eyebrows like that. Here.” Regulus downs his shot
in unison with Barty; he can feel the tequila in his fingertips now. It’s a telltale, almost-tipsy
tingle. “What do you want to know? He runs his dad’s company. Drives an Aston Martin.
Twenty-eight. Probably likes long walks on the beach and other cheesy shit. He seems like
the type.”

Pandora shoulders past him to make room for Lily and the giant charcuterie board in her
hands. “You’re holding out on us. That’s all superficial stuff.”

“Yeah,” Lily agrees, blowing an errant piece of red hair out of her eyes. “We all know you
don’t care about his car or his company. So what about the rest?”

“He’s…sweet.” Regulus follows his friends into the living room. “He listens. It’s easy to talk
to him. I didn’t feel exhausted when the date was over. He knows how to keep up a
conversation without being too nosy. And he…” You like control. It’s the most obvious thing
about you. “Sometimes I think he sees right through me.”

“You should marry him if that’s the case,” Marlene remarks, settling on the sofa. “Lord
knows you wear about ten different faces.”

“Onion,” Barty reminds her, taking his seat.

The sofa is L-shaped, and their seats are the same every Friday night. Marlene and Dorcas sit
at one end while Barty, Evan, and Regulus take the other. Lily and Pandora always prefer the
floor.

“Poor Benjy,” Lily laments with a sigh. “He’s not gonna know what hit him when you finally
grow balls big enough to be a man about it and cut him off.”

Regulus gapes at her. “That’s—That’s not it!” He lies down on his side, cheek smushed
petulantly on Barty’s thigh. Barty has his legs spread, and Evan uses his other thigh as a
pillow. This is their usual position; Evan hadn’t joked when he said theirs is the best couch—
it’s comfortable and massive.

“You can make that face all you want, but you really shouldn’t keep stringing him along. Not
if you’re going to keep seeing James.” Lily situates herself with her head in Pandora’s lap,
mouth open to accept small bits of cheese from the charcuterie board on the coffee table. “We
all know who you’re going to pick.”

“I haven’t even slept with James. What if he sucks in bed?”

“Doesn’t mean you get to keep Benjy around for pity lays. From what you’ve told us, it
sounds to me like he might actually be into you. He just doesn’t know how to break out of the
‘friends with benefits’ box you’ve shoved him into.”

Regulus’ scowl deepens. “Lils, have I ever told you that I hate how smart you are?”

“Boys don’t have enough brain cells, and the ones you do have are all crowded in your dicks.
We girls have to make up for what you lack,” she quips, opening her mouth for another piece
of cheese. “Also, you complain all of the time about men using you for sex. You really
shouldn’t do it to Benjy.”

“What if Benjy is using me for sex? Maybe it’s mutual using for once. That was our
agreement.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Reggie.”

It’s Dorcas, casually flipping through Netflix movies, who asks, “Do you have a picture of
him? James, not Benjy. I’m only realizing now that we have no idea what he looks like. He
could be a solid two for all we know.”

Evan barks a laugh. “He is not a two. Far from it.”

“I don’t always agree with him,” Pandora adds, “but Evan is right. Not a two.”

This gets the other girls’ attention. Their heads turn in unison, three sets of brows raised
expectantly.

“Well?” prods Dorcas. “Where’s our proof?”

With a reluctant sigh, Regulus pulls his phone from his back pocket. “Can’t you just google
him yourselves?”
“As if you haven’t already done a deep dive into every available piece of information you
could find.”

Dorcas isn’t wrong.

He woke up last night around two a.m. Unable to fall back asleep, he hauled himself out of
bed, made a fresh cup of tea, and settled down with the Lego set spread out on his kitchen
table. He was in the middle of putting Frodo’s room together, brain blissfully empty while his
focus narrowed in on building the tiny bed, when his curiosity suddenly spiked.

For a little while, he was able to ignore it. He poured himself another cup of tea, put on lo-fi
music to hum along with, and lost himself in the familiarity of thousands of tiny pieces. It
was another hour or so before his curiosity hit again—a punch to his brain, a hey, look here
that he couldn’t ignore anymore.

Which is how he wound up googling James, knees drawn to his chest and Lego set forgotten.
Hundreds of articles litter the internet, from Times interviews to Forbes features to a handful
of photoshoots that made Regulus’ mouth water. Some part of him felt wrong zooming in on
the dark line of hair that disappeared under a low slung waistband. It was almost like looking
in on something private.

Until he reminded himself James has seen him almost naked many times—and then he
zoomed in some more.

This is how he found James’ Instagram. He scrolled through comments for an hour,
unnecessarily bitter at men and women throwing love at a man he himself barely knows.
Still, it made him want to snarl and gnash his teeth. He wanted to reply, He took me on a date
—not you, summergirl98xo.

He resisted, but it was a monumental effort.

It’s not like him to be jealous, or to care much at all, but he could still feel the strength of
James’ grip on his chin while reading those comments. He could still hear James’ laugh, his
voice, the low hum of his car. Little things that feel like they belong to Regulus, even though
he knows they don’t.

Now, he pulls up James’ profile for Dorcas, ashamed that jfprongs is the first username in his
search list. “He only has sixteen photos.” His words come out a bit garbled and petulant; his
cheek is still smushed on Barty’s thigh. “None of them give anything away, either. Nothing
new, anyway.”

“How many people does he follow?” Evan asks Dorcas, who’s just passed the phone to Lily
with a raised brow.

“Zero.”

“How many follow him?”

Pandora hums appreciatively at a carousel of Forbes photographs. “Over three hundred
thousand.”

“Damn,” Barty marvels. “A decent ratio.” He slips a hand into Regulus’ curls and runs his
other through Evan’s fine blonde hair. “How old is his oldest photo?”

Lily passes the phone to Evan, who makes an appreciate noise similar to his sister’s and
replies, “It’s from three years ago. Oh, Reggie, I feel like this one has to be your personal
fave.”

He’s not wrong. It’s a photo of James in a tourist’s tiki bar in Bora Bora. He’s in boardshorts
and sitting shirtless at a counter with a giant margarita in hand. His grin is blinding, his skin
several shades darker with a gorgeous tan.

“Only sixteen photos in three years?” asks Marlene with a slight frown. “Seems a bit…”

“In his defense, I don’t use social media much, either. I don’t even have any pictures.”

“Because your parents are certifiable,” Dorcas points out. “What’s his excuse?”

“Ev, give it back.” Regulus reaches for his phone over Barty’s spread legs. Reluctantly, Evan
hands it to him.

It’s at this point that it all goes a bit…wrong.

Evan didn’t lock the screen, and his thumb is positioned right over the dated picture. It’s a
perfect sequence of events—Evan’s thumb hits the screen, Regulus’ thumb hits it right after
as he moves to take it back, and a little red, animated heart appears.

“Fuck. Shit.” Regulus grabs the phone, frantically hitting the little red heart to make it go
away.

“What?” the girls ask, turning their heads again.

In his panic, he unlikes the photo—only to accidentally like it again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He
stares in horror at the heart that was once an outlined shape, but is now glaringly red. “I liked
the picture. The old one. Evan’s thumb and—and my thumb and—Shit.”

The girls giggle but turn their attention back to TV screen. They seem entirely unimpressed
with his mild panic. Barty, however, gives his head a gentle but firm pat.

“He’s got over three hundred thousand followers, Reggie. I’m sure he hardly checks
Instagram. He probably has his notifications off. I doubt he’ll even—”

Regulus’ phone buzzes, and his cheeks burst into flame when he reads the text pop-ups as
they come in at the top of his screen:
James
Stalking my pictures during movie night?
Must not be a good movie.
I have better ones than that, if you want to see.
All you have to do is ask :)

“Whoopsies.” Barty pats Regulus’ head again. This time, it’s with an air of sympathy. “Looks
like he noticed.”

This gets the girls’ attention once more. At this rate, it’ll be ten years before they pick a
movie.

“He did?!” Pandora’s grin is a discomforting devious twin of her brother’s. “What did he
say? Oh, I can’t wait to see you try to talk your way out of this one.”

Marlene cackles. “Look at him. He’s redder than the strawberries again.”

Regulus tries to stick out his tongue, but the barbell run through it clinks against the back of
his teeth. Heart in his throat and anxious, he almost bites down wrong and swears anew. This
whole situation is embarrassing. He loathes feeling like he’s been caught.

And how is he meant to explain this? Oh, I was just showing off your pictures to my friends
because I’m not at all interested enough to tell them about you. Or maybe he could try I
accidentally found your profile and accidentally clicked on the oldest photo and then also
accidentally liked it. Oops?

“Just be honest with him,” says Lily from the floor. She nudges Pandora for another piece of
cheese and a small cracker. “Flirt, Reggie. You’re generally pretty damn good at it. I don’t
know what it is about this guy that’s got you all twisted up.”

Regulus wishes he could answer her.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Reg,” adds Evan. “You could put a leash and collar on
him and it would have the same effect. He’s interested, so just flirt with the man.”

“Flirt, flirt, flirt!” Dorcas and Marlene begin to chant until all of Regulus’ friends have joined
in.

“Okay!” he shouts over their voices. “I’ll… I’ll try.”

Barty ruffles his curls. “What’s that little green dude say in those movies you like?”

“Oh, I know this one!” Lily pipes up. “‘There is no try, only do, and do not.”

“Bingo. Thanks, Lils. So do, Reggie, or I’ll figure out a way to haul him into bed with me
and Evan instead. The clock is ticking. Marls, can we pick a movie already?”
Regulus turns over on his back and opens the text thread with James. He ignores his friends
as they bicker over the night’s film choice—Dorcas and Marlene want something lesbian,
Pandora and Evan want horror, Lily wants a romcom, and Barty is hellbent on action.

But Regulus? Well…

Regulus
I wasn’t stalking. Your profile is public.

James
That picture is from 3 years ago.

Regulus
You only have 16.
What else am I supposed to look at?

James
I told you I have better ones.

Regulus
I’ll be the judge of that.

He sets his phone face down on his chest. It buzzes a moment later; he doesn’t want to look
yet. Sure, he egged James on, but… His cheeks still burn. He turns his head to press one
against the rough material of Barty’s jeans.

Just look, he tells himself, fingers tightening around the edges of his phone. The picture won’t
bite.

He lowers his brightness a smidge so Barty can’t snoop. But when he opens the attachment
from James, it’s nothing more than a simple selfie. He’s smiling; it looks like he’s sitting at a
desk. Regulus turns up his brightness to see the details, pulling his lips between his teeth to
hide his grin.

Regulus
Not bad.

James
A tough critic.
Out of 10?

Regulus
I’d say this one is a…
4
James
Ouch. REAL tough critic.

Regulus
It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.

Shitshitshitshitshit.

Lily was right—Regulus knows how to flirt. He’s damn good at it. The problem? So is
James. And the bigger problem? Regulus might be flirting a little too close to the sun. He’s
feeling a bit like Icarus, dangerously poking at a much more formidable foe than he’s used to.

His phone buzzes.

James
What about this one?

Regulus has to fight to keep the whimper in his throat from slipping past his lips. A quick
glance tells him his friends are still focused on the film. It’s an action movie, something with
Tom Cruise. No one cares what he’s up to now that they’re distracted.

It’s just him, his phone, and a very shirtless James Potter against the world.

Despite the quickening of his pulse at the sight of a bronze chest and abdomen, he opts for
nonchalance. James isn’t the only one who can play this game.

Regulus
Better.

James
Hit me with a number.
I need to know where I stand.

Regulus
5

James
No shirt is only a 5?!

Regulus
You were shirtless in Bora Bora.
It’s still nothing I haven’t seen before.
James
Fair.
Alright, gimme a sec :)

The added smiley face feels ominous. He is definitely flirting too close to the sun.

He sets his phone down again and turns his attention to the movie. Minutes tick by with no
vibration. He checks a time or two, but there’s nothing new. Maybe James is on a business
call?

Regulus resists the urge to look at the shirtless picture again. It feels like giving in; he will
maintain control over this. Over himself, at least. Zooming in to see if James matches the
photoshoot pictures and has a mole on his hipbone is not maintaining control over himself.

His phone buzzes against his sternum and his heart leaps into his throat.

1 New Attachment.

All of that time for one photo?

With trepidation, he dims his screen a little more and opens the attachment.

Only to nearly drop his phone right on his chest when he sees what James has sent him. It’s
from a different angle, and James is no longer sitting at a desk but in his bed, propped against
a pile of pillows. Regulus doesn’t know what he was wearing before, but he’s in a pair of
light gray joggers now. They sit low on his hips, and—yes, there it is. That damn mole on his
hipbone.

Regulus has the immediate and violent urge to put his tongue to it.

This picture is almost a selfie. Half of James’ face is in it, his expression smug as hell, but the
emphasis is clearly not on anything above the neck.

Below the belt, though?

James
Number me, baby.

His brain is not working properly. He can all but hear James say it, knows the cadence of his
voice and the way his tone dips to a lower register. His last bit of sanity sounds no better than
a dial-up tone the longer he stares at the lines of James’ chest, the sharp cut of a V leading—

He crosses his legs, desperate to hide the twitch of interest his cock gives. Wearing joggers
tonight was a monumental fuck up he hadn’t anticipated.
And yet, he can’t help but wonder if James took more than this one in the long minutes
between texts.

Regulus
A 6, but +1 for lighting.

He knows he’s being harsh. Maybe even a little mean.

Here he is receiving picture after picture when he hasn’t sent a damn thing in return. Usually
men ask him for something by now. And even if James did google him, he wouldn’t find
much beyond a sparse Wikipedia page and a few articles from when he was a kid.

Running away at eighteen has its perks. His parents made sure to scrub him from the media
when he was still young, and they didn’t have time to exploit his face once he became an
adult. There are no Forbes exposés or Times articles about him. In this, he has the upper
hand.

And yet, his phone buzzes again.

1 New Attachment.

His nerves are no longer from anxiety, but from…anticipation. He’s almost never on the
receiving end of risqué photos. He’s usually the one sending them, battling poses and lighting
and flimsy lingerie.

This is new.

No, even better—this is fun.

James
Alright critic, how’s this?

Regulus doesn’t have time to hold in this whimper. It escapes of its own volition, but he’s
damn lucky it’s at the exact moment Tom Cruise blows up several cars. No one hears him
react to the new photo taking up his whole screen.

It’s not a full-on nude, but that might’ve been less obscene than this. Because this is James’
hand curved around a sizable bulge, and the visible part of his face wears a shit-eating grin,
bottom lip pulled between a row of pearly white teeth.

Regulus knows what that bulge feels like underneath him. He’s pressed his hand against it,
ground down on it while dancing. But he’s never had a whole handful of it, and the last brain
cells bouncing around in his skull are now supplying him with images that, if he isn’t careful,
will start to make him drool.

James
Come on, critic.
I’m waiting.

Regulus
8.5

He’s barely breathing, but James doesn’t need to know that.

James
I’ll accept nothing less than a 10.
Tell me what I need to do to get there.

Regulus swallows his heart; it’s lodged itself in his throat. His mind reels from the question.
It’s put the proverbial ball in his court. Does he dare volley it back?

Then again, James is playing as much as he is.

Fuck it.

His friends are still distracted by the movie, which now has jam-packed action sequences
with plenty of noise. They don’t notice him sneak off down the hall to the guest bathroom,
and if they do, they don’t question it. He locks the door and hops up on the counter, legs
dangling. His foot wiggles from nerves as he types. Deletes. Types again.

Regulus
You want a 10 that much?

James
From you? Absolutely.

Regulus
An 8.5 isn’t bad.

James
It’s not a 10.
“Damn you,” he mutters, foot wiggling more anxiously than before.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to see what James has hidden underneath his joggers. He
absolutely does. The thing is… He’s never asked a guy to send a picture of his dick. They just
do.

Unsolicited, usually, and more often than not with some lewd tagline attached that makes him
cringe. They’re always terrible shots, too—bad lighting, rough angles, weird poses.
Sometimes, when he looks at them, he wonders if he’s really gay at all.

I can’t possibly prefer dick when it looks like this.

But his curiosity has been building for over a month now. He’s let James live rent-free in his
mind long enough. Once he knows, maybe he’ll get it out of his system. If it gives him the
ick, he’ll be safe.

…Right?

In a brief stroke of bravery, he types, counts down from three, and—

Regulus
If you want a 10, take it all off.

Oh, he’s done it now.

His nerves skyrocket right through the ceiling. He’s on his feet, pacing the length of Barty
and Evan’s small bathroom. It’s fine, it’s fine. He’s flirting back. He doesn’t think this is weird.
Surely he wanted you to ask. Regulus eyes his phone where it lies face up on the counter. He’s
into this, too. This is finefinefine.

He’s sexted before. Not with someone like James, but—

No.

He’s not going down this route, either.

James isn’t anyone special. They’re not dating. And Regulus does not have a crush on him,
that’s for damn sure. This is just another hot guy he’ll make a notch in his bedpost with.
James’ end goal is the same as the rest of them. He knows this. He’s accepted it.

The least he can do is have a little fun in the meantime.

He’ll play coy. Push buttons and test limits. James will break; they always do. He’ll ask for
pictures in return, but Regulus won’t send them. No, he won’t offer up a damn thing. If he
wants to win, he has to make James beg. Turn the tables, make him want so bad he forgets his
whole shtick about Regulus’ control issues. Sure, he might have them, but that doesn’t mean
he won’t still get his just deserts in the end.

His phone buzzes on the counter.

1 New Attachment—and the moment of truth.

He opens it, bracing himself against the wall. He slides down to the floor and swipes his
finger slowly across the screen. James’ pictures have been good so far, but a dick pic is the
true test of nude artistry. They’re damn near impossible to get right.

Except…

Regulus blinks, unsure at first of what he’s seeing. It’s a selfie…of sorts. A picture that
clearly required some work on James’ part.

He lies on his side, head propped on his fist and that cheeky grin in place. The whole pose
makes him look like Adonis, something mouthwatering to look at, and it only serves to piss
Regulus off. He was hoping to get the ick; it would douse the warmth pooling in his abdomen
in a heartbeat.

But no, he’s looking at this picture with all the disrespect he can manage. His eyes follow the
long lines of James’ legs, the muscles forming strong thighs. He would keep going, content to
drink it all in, but—

“Oh, that’s mean.”

He glares at where James holds a small throw pillow over his groin—intentionally hiding the
goods. It’s cruel, considering Regulus was just pacing the bathroom over this photo. But
James doesn’t know that. Nor does he know that Regulus has stretched out his legs, unable to
keep his hand from slipping beneath the waistband of his joggers.

“Shit,” he breathes, eyelids fluttering shut at the first brush of his fingers over where he’s
filled out, hard and aching. “This is—ngh—Oh, this is so messed up.”

He doesn’t care. He can still hear the movie from the living room. It’s a cacophony of loud
voices and sporadic booms and constant gunfire. They won’t hear him in here, and he sure as
hell can’t go back out there like this. His only option is—

His phone buzzes incessantly.

He shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t, but that last picture did him in. There are no more
brain cells left to tell him this is a bad idea. Keep control, Regulus. Keep—

“Hi, baby. Disappointed?”

His hand stutters, he groans, and his head falls back against the wall. His breathing is already
ragged; it’s made worse when he drags his thumb through the leaking head of his cock, eyes
squeezed tightly shut.
James is silent for a beat too long.

“No,” Regulus says through gritted teeth. “But it wasn’t a ten.”

“Sure it was. I took it all off just like you told me to.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

James laughs, but it sounds strained. “So you are disappointed.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But it is what you meant.”

Regulus’ head fucking spins. Warmth pools in his spine. He doesn’t have the mental faculty
to spar with James. Not when he can so clearly picture that damn mole right there on James’
hip, begging for him to taste it. And maybe, when he’s finished there, he’ll move across.
Down. Up. There’s so much for him to explore. A whole uncharted land, and—

“Regulus. What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he breathes, but even he knows it’s not believable. It’s so very, very obvious what
he’s doing. Especially when he moans, the friction and warmth of his hand not enough. He
needs to imagine it’s James’ or he won’t get close to the edge. “I’m—in the bathroom.”

“Doing what?”

Regulus doesn’t have the mental bandwidth to come up with a witty reply.

He hears sheets rustle over the line. “Imagine it’s me.”

“W-What? I’m not—”

“Piensa en mí.”

Regulus whines and squeezes his eyes shut tighter. There’s white noise between his ears. The
distant sounds of the action film fade away, and there’s only him with James’ voice in his ear.
“I thought you said you won’t fuck me,” he whispers, fingers as tight around his phone as
they are around his cock.

“I won’t. Not yet.” There’s a grin in James’ voice. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t make you
come. So imagine it’s me, and tell me how it feels.”

“Good,” he breathes, giving into it. It’s a terrible, no good, very bad choice, but it’s nice, for
once, to have someone else fulfill his fantasy. “But I don’t have a lot of time.”

“Your friends?”

“Living—room. Don’t wanna think—about them, though.”

James chuckles, something warm and deep in his chest, and Regulus wants him to do it
again. “I hate that we don’t have much time.”

“Why?”

“Because you deserve to be edged. If I had the time, I would draw this out until you’re
shaking.”

Regulus pushes his joggers down around his knees. He lodges the phone between his ear and
shoulder, reaches for the hem of his tee, and takes it between his teeth. He can tell James is
the sort to talk him through it.

All he has to do is listen.

“But since I don’t have the time for that, this’ll have to do. We have to be quick about it,
right? You should move faster. I would.”

Regulus whimpers around the fabric between his teeth, hand tight around his phone again to
keep it in place. He opens his eyes to watch his other hand move steadily, thumb brushing
over the head of his cock with each upstroke. He’s made a mess of himself, but managed to
keep the wetness from his clothes by some miracle.

“God, and I hate that you have to be this quiet.” James’ tone is so bloody even. He knows
what Regulus is doing. He knows why Regulus is doing it. And yet, his voice doesn’t waver
when he continues, “If you’re this quiet when I fuck you, then I haven’t done my job.”

Whenwhenwhenwhen.

He hates that he could get used to this in his ear.

He hates that he’s thinking about James breaking him apart piece by piece.

He hates that it’s a when, as though James already knows his victory is certain.

He hates that he knows what’s happened. That if someone were keeping score, weighing the
balance of this game they’ve been playing for weeks, then this round isn’t his.

Regulus lost this one.

“You’re close, aren’t you, love?”

Fuck it. He’ll worry about it later.

He makes a soft noise of assent. His jaw aches from how hard he bites on the cotton between
his teeth, and there’s a line of spit trailing down his chin. A mess. He’s a fucking mess, and
he doesn’t even care. Doesn’t care that it’s in someone else’s bathroom, that he’s breathing
heavy and so damn close, because James chuckles again, that smooth, warm sound, and
Regulus is gone.
It hits him hard and fast as a high-speed train. He’s thrown off the edge so violently he cries
out, the sound muffled only by the fabric he’s ruined with his own spit. His back arches, tight
as a bowstring, and there are black splotches on his vision. Warm strands paint his abdomen,
coat his fingers.

His body goes limp, all of the fire in him spent.

“Reg, baby, you still with me?”

“Mm.” He doesn’t want to let go of his T-shirt.

James laughs, clearly pleased. “I didn’t expect this reaction from those pictures. They were
completely innocent.”

“Liar,” Regulus mumbles around the shirt. “You knew.”

“Are you biting something?”

“Shirt.”

“That’s adorable.”

Regulus glares at the cabinets in front of him. “Fuck you.”

“You can someday.” The clink of a dish, the whir of a coffee pot. “Clean yourself up. You
were good for me. I’ll wait.”

The praise renders him useless for a few more seconds before he musters up the strength to
set his phone on the tile, get to his feet, and start the agitating process of cleaning up the mess
he’s made. He avoids his reflection in the mirror; he knows he’s flushed with a slight sheen of
sweat on his brow.

Barty and Evan will know the second he comes back into the living room that he’s been up to
no good.

He washes his hands, then digs around underneath the sink for a washcloth to scrub his
abdomen clean. The entire time, his phone remains on the floor, seconds ticking into minutes
while James waits.

You were good for me you were good for me you were good for me.

Regulus swears under his breath and hangs the damp washcloth over the tub basin. He tries to
clear his head, to collect himself, but he has you were good for me on such a constant loop
that he knows it’s all he’ll think of for days to come. No one has ever said it to him. Not that
he can remember, anyway.

And definitely not like that.

“Okay,” he says when he picks up his phone. “I’m…done.”

“Are you gonna go back and join them?”

“I should. I’ve been gone too long.”

James hums under his breath. “When can I see you?”

“I work Monday night. My usual shift.”

“I’ll be there. But I meant… You and me. Outside of the club.”

Regulus swallows. His jaw aches, his bottom lip tingles, and he’s started swirling his tongue.
Metal clinks against his teeth repeatedly. It’s been a while since he opted for this nervous
habit. “Like…another date?”

“I told you I wanted to take you on more.”

“What if I’m busy?”

“Then we can do another time.”

Regulus runs a finger along the edge of the counter and takes on an air of nonchalance when
he asks, “And what if I have a date with someone else?”

He needs to know if James will crack. He’s off-kilter. The last tendrils of his orgasm still
cling to him, and something in his chest burns to realize it’s James’ fault. That a few risqué
photos was all it took to get him on the floor of his best friends’ bathroom, pants down and
hand fisted around his cock with all the finesse of a teenager.

Since when has he ever been this desperate?

No, he needs to know James’ breaking point—because it has to be before his own.

“Then call me when you get tired of him.”

The evenness. The goddamn nonchalance. Regulus gapes at his own reflection. “That’s it?
Just call you if I’m bored of him?”

“When, love. Not if.”

“Bold of you.”

“And I mean every word.” There’s a beep, then liquid pouring. “Text me when you’re
home?”

Regulus inhales sharply through his nose. His initial instinct is to snap, You’re not my
boyfriend. Quit being sweet, but instead, he hears himself say, “Okay. I will.”

“Brilliant. Oh, and Regulus?”

“Hm?”
“I meant what I said.” James pauses, and there’s the clink of a dish against the counter. “I
don’t have to fuck you to make you come. Goodnight.”

The line goes silent, and Regulus is alone.

He stares at his reflection for a minute longer, willing the flush in his cheeks to go. His eyes
are bright but slightly glazed over, and though he splashed water on his face, there’s still
something in his expression that screams, I just had quasi-phone sex in your bathroom.

It takes him another minute to register the complete silence coming from the living room.

Damn it.

With the last dregs of his dignity, he slips his phone in the pocket of his joggers, tries to tuck
the still drying bit of his shirt out of sight, and pads softly back into the living room.

Six pairs of eyes watch him come around the corner.

“That was incredibly disrespectful to the art of Mission Impossible,” deadpans Barty.

Dorcas nods solemnly. “Tom Cruise would be devastated to hear that his masterpiece of a
film was so sordidly disrespected.”

Regulus flips them both off and marches to the kitchen. He grabs a bottle of water, aware of
six heavy stares as he drinks in hearty gulps. When he’s done, he squishes the plastic and
tosses it in the recycling bin. “I don’t know what you’re all on about. I just went to the
bathroom.”

“For an hour?”

“I had a lot to think about.”

Lily shakes her head with a sigh. “Honestly, that’s fair. It’s like I said before—all of your
brain cells are crowded together in your dick.”

Regulus doesn’t even have the heart to flip her off. He snatches a handful of cheese and
crackers from the half-eaten charcuterie board, settles on the sofa with his feet in Barty’s lap,
and asks, “One more movie?”

“Will you actually watch this one?” Marlene gives him a pointed look.

“I’ll try, but I might fall asleep. I’m a little worn out.”

His friends collectively groan, but Lily tells Dorcas to put on The Breakfast Club. It’s an old
favorite of their group. It reminds me of us, Pandora said once. A little group of misfits who
somehow managed to come together. Before the opening credits even start to roll, Regulus’
eyelids grow heavy.

He thinks of James somewhere in London. Does he live in a mansion? A penthouse? A

modest flat just big enough for one? He’s probably working, deep in whatever it is a CEO
does at ten p.m. on a Friday night. Contracts, maybe. Quarterly numbers. Should Regulus
ask? Should he bother showing interest in the deeper pieces of James’ life and work?

“Hey,” Barty murmurs, nudging his foot. “If you’re that tired, just sleep here.”

“Mm.”

“I mean it, Reg. You’re half-asleep.”

Regulus pulls his phone out of his pocket. He doesn’t know why he does it. He doesn’t know
why he even cares. But he finds himself typing anyway, his screen too bright for his tired
eyes.

Regulus
Sleepy. Gonna sleep. Friend’s house OK.
Goodnight.

He doesn’t even remember sending the text, but there’s a buzz a few seconds later. He stares
at the little reaction bubble sent by James. It’s not a thumbs up this time, but a heart.
Something inconsequential. Plenty of people use it. Regulus himself sometimes does.

Still, he can’t deny the way his own heart takes an extra step, a little leap.

He does his best not to think about it while the movie plays and he drifts. He’s afraid that if
he gives the stutter of his heart any weight, he won’t like the road his thoughts take him down
—or what the final destination means.
 sleazin’ and teasin’, i’m sittin’ on him
Chapter Notes

ride🫠
they're menaces, but they're writing themselves at this point and i'm just along for the
enjoy <3

p.s. there's (slightly nsfw) art from alex at the end :)

The café is busier than Regulus expected it would be on a Friday morning, even for Covent
Garden. He sits alone at a table half in and half out of the elements, a steaming mug of tea
clutched between his hands. He’s in the middle of attempting to cool it with steady breaths
when his phone vibrates on the table in front of him.

James F. Potter sent you £500.00 & it’s ready now.

Regulus’ eyes narrow to thin slits. He hasn’t talked to James since yesterday. He glances
towards the bathroom, bottom lip rolling between his teeth. There’s a line long enough to
give him a few undisturbed minutes to see what James wants.

Regulus
Why did you just send me £500?

James
Hi, baby.
I’m stuck in a meeting and bored out of my mind.
What are you doing?

Regulus
I’m on a date.

James
Oooh. Who’s the lucky guy?

Regulus
His name is Connor.

Connor is a new addition—and a necessary one.

After last Friday’s debacle in Barty and Evan’s bathroom, Regulus backpedaled hard. He
woke up the following morning on his friends’ sofa with a blanket thrown over him and a
slight headache. The onslaught of memories hit him like a high speed train, and he ducked
under the blanket with a yelp. He refused to emerge until Barty physically pushed him off the
sofa and onto the floor.

He ignored James’ texts on Saturday, turned his phone off completely on Sunday, and when
Monday rolled around, he fully expected James to skip out on his shift. Regulus had
practically ghosted him, after all. But James did show. He sat in his usual seat to watch
Regulus dance, drank a single glass of whisky, then left without a word. And without asking
for a private dance.

For no discernible reason, it set Regulus’ teeth on edge. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it?
For James to lose interest and leave him be? As it was, he was letting James get too close.
Giving up his name, going on a date, letting James know where he lives…

Regulus could feel himself dangling off a cliff’s edge with no more than a tenuous grip to
keep him from a long, hard fall.

So he went home, slept nearly half the day, and when he woke, downloaded a dating app he
deleted weeks ago when he met Benjy. At the time, he had grand and noble plans to ditch the
roster he’d accumulated and would pick from whenever he felt like it.

But Regulus hasn’t reached out to Benjy in over a week. Not since his date with James. It’s
possible Benjy got the message that Regulus isn’t interested in more than the occasional call
after midnight. Regardless, he wanted something different on Tuesday night.

Enter: Connor.

Connor, who seems nice enough and bought him tea. Connor, who Regulus matched with at
six p.m. and was under by nine. Connor, who went home the next morning but came back the
next night, and the one after that. Who offered to buy coffee this morning when he finally
rolled out of bed to find Regulus in his usual seat at the dining table, Lego set nearly finished.

James
You shouldn’t be texting me if you’re on a date.
Or is there trouble with Calvin already? :(

Regulus
Connor.
It’s going great actually.
He’s just in the loo.

James
An Oxbridge wannabe?
 Regulus
A Cambridge grad.
How did you know?

James
Lucky guess.

Regulus types, deletes, types again. He doesn’t know how to reply, even though he still wants
to—which is the exact opposite of what he should be doing.

Connor’s only true purpose is to remind him he doesn’t feel anything special for James. That
the jackrabbit beat of his heart every time his phone lights up means nothing. It could happen
with anyone. Even now, when he’s anxiously typing and deleting response after possible
response, he won’t acknowledge the uptick in his heart rate, the sudden nervous energy under
his skin.

He sips his tea. It’s still too hot, but it’s welcome in the biting December cold. He really
wishes they’d managed to snag a table fully inside. His ear will start to ache soon, and with it
will come a migraine.

His phone lights up again.

No, his stomach does not flip.

James
Has Carter come back yet?

Regulus
Connor.
No, he’s still in the loo.
Why do you care?

James
Just curious.
Did he fuck you?

Regulus almost spits his tea out all over the table. He manages to swallow it down, but it’s
piping hot and burns his throat. An elderly woman gives him a concerned glance, one thin
brow raised. He waves her off, still choking, until she turns around.

Regulus
What kind of question is that?!
James
A curious one.

Regulus
Aren’t you in a meeting?

James
Irrelevant.

Regulus
I’m not answering.

James
Oooh. So he did.
And you’re getting coffee after?
He must not have been half bad.
Tell Caleb I said good job.

Regulus
CONNOR.

Good job? Good job? James can’t be serious.

Regulus looks up to check the bathroom line. There are two people in front of Connor, who
leans against the wall while scrolling through his phone. As if sensing Regulus’ gaze, he
glances up, grins, and winks. He’s handsome in a Ken doll sort of way—perfect hair, perfect
teeth, perfect clothes, and ready for a magazine spread at any moment.

It shouldn’t annoy Regulus as much as it does that Connor’s warm, friendly expression and
suggestive wink make him feel absolutely nothing. Still, he manages a small smile before
returning his attention to his phone.

James
One more question?
Then I’ll let you get back to your date with Charlie.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Regulus
What now?
James
How many times did he make you come?

Regulus
?!?!?!?!?!?!

James
:)

Regulus
You’re out of line.

James
I’m curious.
And this meeting is very boring.
Humor me?

Regulus
I will not.

James
Pretty please?
Or do you need another £500?

Regulus
NO.

James
Bummer. I was ready.
Should I beg then? Get on my knees?

Regulus
N. O.

James
Once? Twice?
Three times???

Regulus
If I tell you will you stop asking?

James
Pinky promise.

Regulus
Twice.

James
Amateur.
Regulus gapes at the screen. He really didn’t mean to tell James anything at all, but he
doesn’t know how to act when it comes to this man. Any other would’ve folded and told
Regulus enough. Lesser men might have blocked him and decided he isn’t worth all this
damn trouble.

But James is apparently built a little different, and Regulus has no fucking idea what to do
about it.

He types furiously, his tea forgotten where it steadily cools on the table.

Regulus
Amateur?!

James
I said what I said.

Regulus
And what do you think YOU are?
YOU only made me come once!

James
Valid.
But I didn’t even have to touch you.

Regulus is seething. Mostly because James is right. A few risqué pictures, some gentle
coaxing in a deep, honey smooth voice, and Regulus was coming all over his hand with stars
behind his eyelids. It was one of the best orgasms he’s had in ages. Not even Connor, for all
of his decent skills, has managed to surpass it.

James
See you tonight?

He wants to ask if James will do what he did on Monday and sit watching without a word,
but it feels too much like defeat. Instead, Regulus sends a middle finger emoji and puts his
phone on Do Not Disturb just as Connor slides into his seat.

“Sorry about the wait,” he says, smiling in that too-perfect way. “The line was so long. Didn’t
expect that.”

“No worries. My tea is still hot.”

“Oh, thank God. So is my coffee.” Connor takes a sip, then makes a contented noise. His
eyes are a warm caramel color and filled with a light Regulus knows well. Most men have it
the morning after when he agrees to get coffee or lunch. Like there’s some shared secret
between them because they slept together before the actual date.

Regulus finds it immensely irritating.

Or maybe it’s the residual frustration from his conversation with James. Will they ever not
bicker? It’s not as though they can’t have normal interactions. Regulus knows they can. Just
the other night, when he couldn’t sleep and sat piecing together the remaining bits of
Rivendell, James called him out of the blue—at 3:52 a.m.

He thought it was James giving in, begging to be let into his bed. But no, it wasn’t that at all.
James had seemed surprised when Regulus answered, only to quickly recover and explain, “I
couldn’t sleep. Figured if you couldn’t either, we could talk.”

“At four in the morning?”

“Does that matter?”

Regulus couldn’t come up with an excuse. Connor had left around midnight; he was alone.
So he’d put James on speaker, and they talked until well after the sunrise. They chatted about
school and work, about some of the more ridiculous clients Regulus has fielded while
dancing, about an impending board meeting responsible for James’ lack of sleep.

It wasn’t until Regulus’ eyelids started to droop and his words began to slur that James told
him to go to bed. The moment his head hit the pillow, he fell right to sleep.

“Regulus? You with me?”

He shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. “Sorry. Just a little tired.”

Connor smirks. “I wonder why.”

Amateur—the word bounces around in his skull; he can all but hear it in James’ voice. The
haughty way he’d say it, as if it’s the funniest thing in the world to him. It makes Regulus’
blood simmer, and he plasters on a smirk of his own. “As great as this tea is, I really could’ve
used a little more time in bed…”

“Oh?” Connor pauses with his mug halfway to his lips. “We could ask for to-go cups, if you
want. I’m free this afternoon…”

“Brilliant.” Regulus grins in full and settles his chin on his fist. He makes sure to look up
from underneath his lashes, laying it on thick. “So am I. Should we go?”

“Fuck yeah. Give me a sec to get the cups.”

Regulus—who is now convinced he might actually be a masochist—reaches for his phone

the second Connor’s back is turned.
 Regulus
What if he gets me off 3 times?

James
Then I’ll get you off 4.
I enjoy a challenge. Don’t you?

Regulus
This is all a game to you isn’t it?

James
It’s whatever you want it to be.
Either way I’m just getting started.
Tell Chase I said hi :)

Regulus
It’s CONNOR!

All he gets in return is a thumbs up and no reply.

The club is packed, but this comes as no surprise. It’s a Friday night, a little after eleven, and
for the next few hours, there will be a nonstop rotation of men at the bar, on the couches, in
private rooms.

Regulus leans his elbows on the bartop behind him. A glass full of red liquid with a lime slice
on the rim dangles from his fingertips. He’s on break—finally. He shouldn’t be drinking, but
it pays to be best friends with the bartender.

He refuses to admit he’s waiting for James. Despite the cheeky See you tonight? text, he
knows better than to get his hopes up. And isn’t that the whole point? To keep his
expectations low, practically nonexistent, and get rid of this strange thing that settles in his
chest whenever James is involved.

In contrast, men like Connor are safe. He doesn’t feel anything for them beyond the
necessary interest required to allow them inside his flat. Which, he did. And Connor seemed
all too willing to follow Regulus inside, their almost finished cups of tea and coffee forgotten
on the credenza in Regulus’ entryway.

Somewhat reluctantly, he’d checked his phone numerous times while getting ready for work.
Connor had left a few hours beforehand, and his flat was suffocatingly quiet. Even his phone
remained silent outside of the group text with his friends. Nothing more came from James
after the thumbs up.

Regulus still isn’t sure whether he’s relieved or disappointed.

With a heavy sigh, he twists around to set his now empty glass on the bar. “One more,” he
calls to Evan.

“You’re lucky Riddle isn’t here tonight to be on my ass about this.” Evan snatches Regulus’
glass and a bottle of vodka from under the counter. “You know you’re not supposed to drink
on the clock.”

“I’m on break.”

Evan splashes cranberry juice in the glass, but the ratio is definitely heavier on the vodka.
“That’s still on the clock.”

“Semantics.” When Evan slides the finished cocktail across the counter, Regulus adds in a
sing-song, “Tha-a-ank you.”

He gets a middle finger and an eye roll before Evan heads for the opposite end of the bar. His
attention is on a man waving bank notes in the air with the vigor of someone who’s
experiencing a strip club for the first time. They’re easy to spot: wide-eyed, flushed, a little
fidgety. The I shouldn’t be here, but here I am types, as if this is an illegal speakeasy in the
1920s.

Regulus watches this one, lips wrapped around a thin black straw, teeth clenched tight to slow
the flow of his cocktail. The guy is young. Maybe even younger than Regulus. He’s in his
early twenties with neatly cropped, dusty hair and wide, brown eyes. When he catches
Regulus watching him from across the bar, he blushes clear to the tips of his ears. They jut
out a little. A rugby player, perhaps.

He looks away, but Regulus lets his own gaze linger until the man risks a second glance. His
cheeks go ruddy when Regulus opts for a sultry, crooked grin, the straw still held between his
teeth. It’s obvious he’s not a customer—the black silk slip tied around his waist might cover
the skin underneath, but his legs are long and slender, bare except for translucent thigh high
stockings. Even with the Docs on his feet, loose and undone, it’s clear he is not a casual
patron.

Regulus will give this one some credit—he squares his shoulders, grabs his drink, and heads
directly for where Regulus leans on the high counter. His drink is half-finished, a pleasant
combination of bitter and sweet. He should savor it. Evan won’t give him another, and he still
has five minutes of his break left.

“Hey there,” says Mr. Rugby. He sets his drink on the bar and sidles up next to Regulus. He’s
tall and broad, all shoulders with a narrow waist.

“Lame. Try again.” Regulus crosses his ankles, knocking the toe of his boot against his heel.
“Don’t make eyes from across the bar if that’s going to be your only opener.”
Mr. Rugby blinks a few times, clearly taken aback. “I—Okay. Can I start over?”

“You can. But you only have until I finish my drink.”

“Shit. Okay. My name is Jeremy. I, erm, I saw you from across the bar and you’re… Well,
you’re fucking stunning, if I’m honest.” Mr. Rugby—Jeremy—rubs at the back of his neck.
His cheeks are bright red. “You work here, right? Kinda got that vibe…”

“Better. Less fumbling next time, though.” Regulus sets his glass on the counter. There’s a
little vodka left, but he has time. Jeremy seems the type to cough up his entire paycheck if
Regulus plays his cards right.

“Can you tell me your name?”

“It truly pains me to say this, but my real name is a secret. I do wish I could tell you, though.”

Jeremy frowns. “Is there something else I can call you? A different name?”

“Ophidian.”

“Oh. That’s unique.”

With practiced shyness, Regulus shifts the hem of his slip to expose the snake wound around
his left thigh. He wants to laugh when Jeremy’s eyes drop right to it, gaze slipping from
curiosity to hunger in less time than even he could’ve anticipated. “Of and resembling
serpents,” he explains, dropping the slip back into place.

“How much?”

The question sours Regulus’ mood immediately. Even though this is the entire reason he
made eyes at this guy in the first place, the lack of tact, the audacity and bluntness of the
question, make it difficult to hide the way his lip threatens to curl.

Have a little respect, he wants to say. I’m not an object on a shelf for you to purchase and
play with.

Except yes, he is.

Regulus opens his mouth to snap, I’m not for sale, but the words shrivel on his tongue when a
deep voice from behind him says, “Sorry, mate, but I don’t think you can afford him.”

Not his fault you pay thousands for thirty minutes, Regulus almost volleys back. He reaches
for his drink instead. James is dangerously close. Close enough his fingers can dance their
way under the hem of Regulus’ slip. They’re featherlight touches on the outside of his right
thigh. Hidden touches just for them.

Jeremy frowns. “I’ve got enough. They said a private dance is—”

“Price change, unfortunately. I think the going rate is… What is it now, love?”
“Five thousand,” Regulus deadpans, tossing his straw over the bar and knocking back the rest
of his drink in one swallow.

“Five th—The fuck?”

“Bummer, innit?” James’ tone is anything but sympathetic. “I recommend you try the main
floor. You’ll have better luck there.”

Jeremy looks tempted to argue, but a quick glance at the main floor, at a field of less
expensive options available, sends him scurrying down the short staircase nearby. He doesn’t
even bother to take his drink with him.

Pushed up on his tiptoes, Regulus leans over the bar to set his empty glass down on the
counter. At the gentle touch of James’ hand on the back of his exposed thigh, he spins
around. “No touching,” he hisses. “You’ll get me in trouble. You know the rules.”

“Sorry, sorry.” James grins down at him, both hands held up in surrender, and Regulus fights
to keep his heart from stumbling out of his ribcage. “I just have questions about what you’ve
got on underneath this.” He tugs at the hem of Regulus’ slip. “Are you on break?”

“Maybe.”

“Love, don’t play. I saw leather straps.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Follow me.”

“Anywhere.”

Maybe it’s the heat under his skin that makes him offer. James hasn’t stood this close to him
since last week. He lets Regulus lead him through the packed club. They wind around
numerous stages, heading for the back rooms. Regulus catches sight of Barty, who’s sizing up
Jeremy with a modicum of interest.

It’s a common misconception among most customers: strippers aren’t desperate. Not here,
anyway. They’re shopping as much as their clients. Big fish are better—less time on the floor,
more money in their pockets. It’s the reason so many dancers threw themselves at James
when he became a regular. Wealth pours off of him in waves. There’s a different energy, a
confidence that comes from a life of black tie events, annual galas, and charity balls.

Of ending requests with periods rather than question marks.

The private rooms are darker than the low-lit club. Regulus toes off his boots once they’re
inside. “Sit,” he tells James, nodding to the curved, plush couch wrapped around half of the
small room. In front of it is a raised, circular stage, and in the middle of that, a thick metal
pole. It’s irrelevant; Regulus knows what James prefers when they’re alone.

James collapses on the couch, arms stretched over the back and an ankle over his knee. He’s
in a suit but didn’t bother with the jacket, opting to roll his sleeves midway up his forearms
instead. The top buttons of his dress shirt are undone. “How’s your night?”
“Fine. I’m working until one.”

“Not a long shift, then.”

Regulus shakes his head. He fiddles with the stereo system, scrolling through songs. Longer
is better; he prefers something he can loop so it feels endless. “Started at nine. It’s been busy,
but there are a lot of us tonight.”

“Mm. How was your afternoon?”

It’s not a pointed question, but considering how Regulus spent his afternoon, it feels a little
intentional. He keeps his eyes on the tablet in his hands, still searching for songs, even
though James’ gaze bores into his back. “Fine. Didn’t do much.”

“Two times or three?”

Regulus’ jaw clenches, and he risks a cutting glare over his shoulder. “That’s none of your
fucking business.”

“Just making conversation,” James says lightly, tipping his head back with a benign smile.
“Classes start up soon, don’t they? Next week?”

“After New Year’s, yeah.” He hates that James remembers. Hates that James has cataloged
these things away rather than forgotten them. Warmth unfurls in Regulus’ chest, and he’d
give anything to stomp it out. You’re meant to be a client. Nothing else. Quit pretending we
can be more.

He can all but see James blurring the lines with the toe of his fine Oxfords.

“If you need anything, you’ll tell me, right?” James’ foot bounces, restless. “I mean it,
Regulus. Don’t overwork yourself if you’re worried about money. Just ask.”

“I’m fine. I make enough.”

“That’s not what I said.”

Regulus inhales a steadying breath. He agreed to this, didn’t he? He’s accepted the random
wires into his bank account with minimal protest. It’s not as if he’s sent any of it back.
Reluctantly, he says, “Okay. I’ll tell you.” It feels a little like defeat, but he can’t pretend the
extra money hasn’t been nice. He already took next week off to prepare for classes and
attempt to correct his sleeping schedule.

After a silent minute or two, he finds a song and presses play. It’s a slow, steady thrum.
Something soft until the true beat begins. James’ heavy gaze is practically a caress, and he
takes another steadying breath to keep from shivering under the weight of it.

This, at least, is familiar. They’ve done this plenty of times. He’s danced countless dances for
James in this very room, to this song and plenty others. If he shuts off the part of his brain
that knows what James looks like under dim restaurant lighting or behind the wheel of an
Aston Martin, he can almost pretend nothing has changed.
He drops his head back, eyes closed, a small smile on his lips. The music washes over him,
beats a familiar rhythm in his veins until his blood settles with it. He’s good at his job for a
reason. With steady fingers, he tugs at the tie around his waist. He keeps his back to James.
Lets the slip fall from one shoulder, then the other. There’s a tattoo down his spine: the sun,
then a line of planets and stars.

“You’re teasing, love.”

Regulus turns his head to look over his shoulder. “Am I?”

“What’s underneath? I swear I saw leather.” James uncrosses his legs to lean forward. He sets
his elbows on his knees and steeples his fingers under his chin. “It’s new, isn’t it? Whatever
you’re wearing.”

“Maybe.”

There’s a sparkle in James’ eyes behind his glasses. “Come here, baby. I’ve missed you.”

“No touching,” Regulus reminds him. He keeps the slip wrapped around his lower half. “You
know the rules.”

James drops back against the couch with his arms and legs spread, an open invitation. When
they’re alone, he prefers Regulus on him, not in front of him. He doesn’t care about what
Regulus can do on a pole when he’d rather see him up close.

Regulus stands between James’ knees and lets the slip fall to the floor in a pool of black silk.

“Holy shit,” James breathes, brows to his hairline and eyes wide. He reaches out a hand.
“You are—”

“No touching.”

James groans with all the finesse of a toddler who’s just been told to keep his hands out of the
cookie jar. But he listens and falls back against the couch.

It’s a showstopper of a piece. A leather belt wraps around the dip in Regulus’ waist.
Connected to it are two straps that follow the line of his body until they reach leather garters
wrapped around his thighs. These remind him of collars, complete with silver metal hoops
wherever the pieces of leather connect. The lowest garters on his thighs hold up his
stockings. Other than this, all he wears is an opaque black G-string.

It’s a damn feat to keep himself steady with the way James watches him, hunger simmering
openly in his gaze.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs when Regulus straddles him, hands sliding up his chest to undo
another button of his shirt. “Yeah, that guy at the bar didn’t deserve you for a damn second.”

“And what makes you think you do?”

“Oh, I don’t. I definitely don’t.” James shakes his head, laughing softly. “No one does. You
look incredible in this.”

“I’m hardly wearing anything.”

“Doesn’t matter. My point still stands.”

Regulus is thankful for the low lights. James won’t be able to see him blush.

It doesn’t take long for him to find a rhythm he prefers. He sets a pace that follows the song’s
beat but allows him to change his movements, to keep it interesting. He watches James watch
him. Watches pupils consume hazel irises until there’s nothing but a thin ring along the edges.

Neither of them speak. Regulus doesn’t trust himself to. Not yet. Out of the corner of his eye,
he sees James’ fingers twitch. His hands fist, unfurl, fist again. He wants to touch; he always
does. Tonight, it seems, his control is barely keeping itself contained.

Regulus is careful to hide his grin when he leans forward to mouth at James’ ear. He runs his
tongue along the curve of it, delighting in the shiver underneath him when the metal bar
catches on the shell. James’ curls smell of something citrus. They’re soft against Regulus’
cheek. He shifts in James’ lap to straddle one thigh rather than both. Pulls back, but keeps the
heat in his gaze. James is solid and thick underneath him, the fine cut of his suit straining.

Dark eyes narrow when Regulus’ hand wraps around his throat just under his jaw. “Love,” he
murmurs, a low warning. “What are you doing?”

“Why didn’t you want a private dance when you came on Monday?”

“I do have a company to run, you know.” James leans into the palm laid across his throat. “I
didn’t have much time to stick around on Monday, but I still wanted to see you.”

Regulus rolls his hips, careful to keep the movement smooth and practiced.

“Why? Are you upset with me?”

“No.”

“Is that why you let Colton fuck you?”

“Connor.”

James smirks; the amusement in it sets Regulus’ blood simmering. He’s frozen in place when
James grips his chin between thumb and forefinger, unconcerned with Regulus’ hand around
his throat. He tilts Regulus’ head left, then right, gaze snagging on a spot under his jaw. “I see
this one leaves marks.”

“He does.”

“What happened to ‘work won’t allow it’?”

“I knew you were coming tonight.”

It’s a flicker in James’ expression. Brief, there and gone in an instant, but Regulus saw it.
Suspects it could even be victory—until James pulls his hand away and stretches his arms
over the back of the sofa again. “I’m leaving for a business trip in Singapore tomorrow. I’ll
be gone for a week or so.”

“Oh?” Regulus moves his hand to cup James’ jaw, the pad of his thumb pressed to the center
of a plush lower lip. He stills his hips; there’s a warmth building in his gut, threatening to
spiral low. He thinks of everything awful—the King, his least favorite film, Marlene’s
cooking mishaps.

It does very little to help when James shifts his thigh, presses up, and Regulus has to fight to
keep from shuddering at the contact. He’s half-hard, hanging on by a thread, and it’s his own
damn fault this time. What was he thinking, straddling James like this? Except he wasn’t
thinking, and that’s the damn problem. He let his body move to wherever it wanted to be, all
under the guise of a better dance.

“Mhm,” James hums softly. “I’ll be very busy, but at least I know you’ll be taken care of
while I’m gone.”

Regulus narrows his eyes. “You can’t be serious.”

“This one seems a little better than the last. What was his name again? Benny?”

“Benjy.”

“Yeah, that one.” James regards Regulus with a heavy-lidded gaze. He looks up from under
his lashes, long and black as coal. “I’m not worried about it. You’ll call me when you’re
bored of him.”

“No, I won’t.”

“We’ll see.”

“And you?” Regulus snaps. “I bet you have men and women waiting in every country. You
seem like the type.”

James’ tongue flicks out to taste the tip of Regulus’ thumb. His smirk is a terribly devilish
thing. “Does it make you jealous?”

It’s not a yes, but it’s not a no either. Regulus’ chest heats. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Worth a shot. Can I leave you with a parting gift?”

“That depends. What is it?”

James’ hand curves around his leg before he can muster a warning. Fingers dip between his
skin and one of the leather garters on his thigh, and James uses the grip to pull, to force
Regulus’ knees to spread a little more. He inhales sharply at the sudden pressure pressed
against his rapidly filling cock.

“What are you doing?” he hisses, his voice strangled.

“Ride it.”

“James, we can’t!”

“We can do whatever we want. Break the rules a little. Besides, who else is here?” James tilts
his head, gaze flitting around the small private room pointedly. He glances at the watch on his
wrist, lips pursed. “I have to go soon. My flight leaves before dawn, so…”

Regulus grits his teeth. It takes all of his willpower not to grind down on the hard thigh
underneath him. “What are you playing at?”

“I’m not playing at all. I’m giving you something to think about while I’m gone.”

“And what if I don’t want it?”

James shrugs. “Then get up and walk away.”

He won’t. He knows he won’t, and James knows he won’t. Not when desire rips through him
hard and fast, turning his insides molten. He shouldn’t—oh, he really, really shouldn’t—but
the first roll makes him gasp. He shudders, one hand fisted in the fine material of James’
shirt. The other curls around the back of the couch, and his forehead drops forward onto
James’ shoulder.

The moan rips from him before he can stop it. It’s low and debauched, and he hears a
strangled fucking hell said on a blown out breath. James’ grip tightens around the leather
garter, coaxing Regulus into a rhythm that’s a little faster but still lands on every other beat of
the song.

James’ breath blows hot over Regulus’ ear, his lips too damn close but not close enough.
Regulus’ scratches at James’ chest, the shirt pushed aside so he can find bare skin. There’s
something animalistic about the way his blunt nails dig, sure to leave little red crescents
behind.

“Did he wring you out?” asks James.

Regulus shudders at the low timber in his voice. “No,” he admits, too busy chasing a high to
bother with lying. He recognizes the pattern now—James gets him hot under the collar in one
way or another, and he loses all ability to think straight. Truths come pouring out of him with
terrifying ease.

Teeth nibble at the shell of his ear, and Regulus practically melts. His body betrays him; it
wants too much, and James knows it. “Then you have a little left over for me,” he whispers.
“Don’t you, love?”
Regulus is aching. There’s a damp spot forming where the head of his cock threatens to peek
out from tight elastic. It’s not as though his outfit—or lack thereof—was made for this. The
scale is tipping again, a little more in James’ favor, but he’s too close to bliss to think about it.
It’ll hit later, when he’s alone in his bed and with his thoughts.

For now, all he knows is James, who’s gently talking him through it. Because of course he’s
the type to say things like so good for me, and just a little more, and come on, baby, let me
hear you. Regulus wants to curse him for it, but there’s steady warmth unfurling in his spine,
that telltale pull behind his navel. It’s the tightening of a rubber band just before it snaps—
and with his head thrown back, he lets the tether break and shatters.

It’s white noise between his ears, a burn in his veins, and Regulus doesn’t even care that he’s
lost.

There are lips on his collarbone, moving delicately over his skin. It grounds him, reminds
him where he is. All he can manage is a brokenly muttered, “Fucking hell.”

“You’re pretty when you come,” James replies simply, still kissing over Regulus’ exposed
chest. His tongue flicks at a pierced nipple, and he laughs when Regulus shivers. “I’m glad I
got to see it this time. I’ll be thinking about this all week. It’ll get me through all the terrible
panels I’m doomed to sit through.”

“I thought it was a gift for me.”

“It was. But it wasn’t only for you.”

Regulus jumps when two fingers brush through the mess on his stomach, his thighs. He
opens his eyes, still heavy with the last tendrils of pleasure, and watches James set two
fingers on his tongue. “Oh, my God,” Regulus groans, not sure what he’s meant to do with
the sight of James sucking his fingers clean. His grin when he finishes is too damn pleased.

The music still plays a steady beat, but it’s significantly slower than Regulus’ heart, which
has lodged itself in his throat. He doesn’t know how many times the song has looped. They
might be well over their usual thirty minutes, and someone could come knocking at any time.

He’s about to open his mouth, to say something despite his lust-filled haze, but he doesn’t get
the chance. James’ hands settle on his waist, lift him up off that damned thigh, and drop him
down on the couch. He lets out an oof, disorientated, as James get to his feet.

“Where are you going?”

“I told you I have an early flight.” James fixes the buttons on his shirt, doing them back up
properly, and reaches down to adjust himself in his trousers. He’s hard, the bulge blatantly
obvious, but he doesn’t seem at all concerned with taking care of it. “I’ll call you when I
land. It’s thirteen hours, I think. So it’ll be a while.”

“What—?” Regulus scrambles to his feet. He snatches the black slip off the floor, throws it
on, and ties it tight around his waist. He’s hot all over; even silk feels scratchy against his
skin. Thankfully, the slip hides the mess on his thighs and stomach.
James looks back when he reaches the door, one hand curled around the knob. His eyes travel
the length of Regulus’ body slowly, as if he’s trying to commit him to memory. His smile is
bright and cheeky when he looks up again. “Tell Cole he has a week. When I get back from
Singapore, I’m not sharing you anymore.”

“His name is Connor,” Regulus says through gritted teeth, but James merely gives him a
small parting wave before he slips out the door.
 i’m already actin’ like a dick, so you might as well stick it in
Chapter Notes

are 👀
i wasn't going to update so soon, but the creative juices have been flowin', so here we
enjoy <3

Saturday night is Regulus’ last shift before his week off. James is already in Singapore, and
Regulus is lost in his head. He runs through his stage routines on autopilot; the movements
come as easy as breathing after this long. In between, he declines invitations to private
rooms. He wouldn’t usually turn them down, but he doesn’t need the money.

The notification came at 3:57 a.m., a few hours after Regulus came home from his shift last
night. He was busy building the Rivendell armory with a glass of wine in hand when his
phone buzzed near his elbow.

James F. Potter sent you £5,000.00 & £500.00 is available now.

He read the message several times, waiting. Sure enough, James’ text came through shortly
after the wire notification.

James
Taking off in a sec, but don’t think I forgot.

Regulus
What’s it for?

James
The rest of your parting gift.
Buy yourself something nice while I’m in Singapore.
Te veo al rato :)

In the stillness of his flat, Regulus had simply laughed once he realized what the £5,000 was
for.

After James left him a mess in the private room, he’d slumped back on the plush couch with
the heels of his hands pressed hard against his eyes. He waited until he saw stars in his vision
before getting to his feet. It was a miracle no one noticed him running along the back wall to
the dressing rooms, careful to keep the slip in place. His mind was so full of cotton, still
sluggish after his orgasm, that he forgot all about the money James technically owed him for
the thirty minutes they spent alone.

It seemed James, however, had not forgotten at all.

Regulus had to translate the last message from James. And for the thousandth time since
meeting the man, Regulus cursed him seven ways to Sunday. I’ll see you later—after telling
him to buy himself something nice? Nice what, exactly? Shoes? A watch? A day at the spa?
An outrageously expensive bottle of wine? Or something in red, made of fine silk and lace?

He told himself it wasn’t that deep even as his brain ran itself ragged trying to parse out a
possible hidden meaning. It bothered him until the sun came up to bathe his kitchen in a soft
orange glow. Only then did he quit fiddling with the Legos and, eyelids drooping, drag
himself into the living room to curl up on the sofa and fall asleep.

With a fresh £5,000 sitting in his bank account, Regulus is pickier than ever. He doesn’t even
need to be here; he just didn’t have the energy to call out of work. But once he’s done for the
night, he slips out of the club with a quick wave goodbye to Barty to Evan.

In the days that follow his last shift, Regulus finds himself slipping into a simple routine:
study, sex, and sleep, though not necessarily in this order. With his final semester looming,
he’s determined to get ahead in his coursework. He always inevitably falls behind when his
inability to sleep normal hours fucks him over.

So he studies on and off, sleeps enough to get through the day, and has sex with Connor that
isn’t half bad at all. The only issue with the last one is Regulus—who, to put it rather bluntly,
is incredibly fucking distracted.

Connor is enthusiastic about rimming, which would usually be a point in his favor, but
Regulus hardly pays attention to the eager tongue and fingers working him open. He rests his
elbows on the back of the sofa, knees spread on the cushions, head hanging between his
shoulders. Connor has a vice grip on the back of his thighs, thumbs pressed to the underside
of his ass to hold him open.

All in all it’s…fine. Regulus knows when he should moan and how much he should put into
it. It’s practiced, and Connor doesn’t suspect he’s checked out.

These last few days, it’s become increasingly difficult to focus. When he isn’t studying or
sleeping, he’s thinking of James. Including during moments like this, when he really
shouldn’t be thinking about someone who isn’t the man he invited into his flat. He’s taken to
burying his face in his pillows when Connor fucks him, and tries not to think about what it
would be like if it was James instead.

But the thought is in his head now. It has been since Friday’s private dance, and the curiosity
grows stronger every day. I’m not sharing you anymore bounces around in his skull like an
errant ping pong ball. Even now, when Connor eases into him with a hand on his hip and
another between his shoulder blades, he wonders if James would hold onto him hard enough
to bruise. If James would talk him through even this, voice low and sultry in his ear.
It’s started to irritate him that Connor isn’t really serving his purpose anymore. Considering
Regulus can’t stop thinking about James no matter what position they try or where they try it,
the whole affair feels increasingly moot. He really should send the poor guy home and delete
his number.

It’s simply easier for Regulus to pretend he still has a good grip on the cliff’s edge rather than
accept the truth: he’s already lost his hold, and he’s in the middle of a freefall.

James has only been in Singapore for half a week, but Regulus reaches for his phone often.
Even when Connor is around, he can’t resist the urge to check it. Mostly, they text. James is
in and out of too many meetings and panels and lunches and dinners to manage consistent or
long phone calls.

Which is fine, since Regulus shouldn’t even be sitting on his balcony at two in the morning.
His phone is pressed to his ear, there’s a steaming mug of tea in his hands, and laughter
bubbles out of him when James imitates another ancient board member who’s pissed him off.

“I swear,” he says, flustered, “there’s so much hair growing out of their ears they might as
well start braiding it. Maybe then I could tug on it to make them say something intelligent.
Like Woody from Toy Story.”

Regulus giggles, blowing at the steam rising off his tea. He sits in the dark in joggers and one
of Barty’s old jumpers. His feet are cold where he has them propped up on the balcony
railing, and the patio seat is a bit uncomfortable. None of it bothers him. “Why don’t you just
tell them to fuck off?” he asks. “Don’t you own the company?”

“While I admire your spirit, it’s unfortunately not that easy. Plus, this whole weeklong
nightmare is meant to be a collaborative effort between my company and other companies
working on similar projects. I have to play nice, or I risk undoing all of my dad’s hard work.”

“Playing nice isn’t any fun.”

“You would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

Regulus smirks behind the rim of his mug. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Has Carson been taking care of you?” asks James, as smooth as if he’s merely asking about
the weather. Voices echo in the background. He stepped away from the panel for a moment,
but their time, as usual, is limited.

Regulus doesn’t bother to correct the name. “He’s doing a pretty decent job of it, yeah.”

Why do you care why do you care why do you—

James breathes a long, drawn out sigh. It’s a tense moment before he replies. “Sorry, love, but
I’ve gotta get back in there. We’ll talk soon?”

“Yeah.” Regulus doesn’t know why his heart and stomach sink a little at the dismissal.

“Go inside. I don’t want that cute little nose to freeze off while I’m gone.”
“It’s not nearly cold enough for that.”

“Humor me. Bye, Reg.”

“Bye, James,” he whispers, but the connection has already ended.

Regulus sits in silence while he finishes his tea. The time creeps closer to three a.m., and his
nose has become incredibly cold and stiff, but he doesn’t have much of a desire to go back
inside. Connor is passed out in his bed. He sleeps with all of his limbs every which way. Just
like last night, when Regulus nudges him over to climb back in, he’ll hiss about the cold
clinging to Regulus’ skin. But once he’s more awake, he’ll take it upon himself to warm
Regulus back up.

Regulus isn’t in the mood.

This is how it’s been almost every night since James left. Outside of his prep studies for this
semester, Regulus doesn’t have a single thing besides Connor to distract him from thoughts
of James. And now he doesn’t even have that, because he thinks of James when Connor
makes him come. He’s nearly bitten the tip of his tongue clean off a few times to keep James’
name tucked in his throat.

The entire thing is confusing and frustrating as hell.

“Reg, just dump the poor guy,” Pandora says on Thursday when she and Lily come over in
the afternoon. They’re here to help him study for a few hours. “This is like Benjy all over
again but worse. You’re letting this one sleep over. A lot. He’s going to think there’s more to
it.”

“I doubt it,” mutters Regulus. He’s lying on his stomach on the floor, cheek pillowed by his
forearms. His textbook lies open in front of him, but it’s untouched. Once he mentioned
Pandora and Lily have to leave by five so he can shower before Connor comes over, they lost
interest in studying.

“So what exactly have you been doing?” asks Lily from her spot on the sofa. Pandora sits at
her feet, study materials spread out on Regulus’ coffee table. “Fucking Connor, waiting until
he’s passed out, then talking to James all night?”

Regulus lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Pretty much.”

“And James is just…fine with this? The other guy, too?”

“James doesn’t seem to care. Connor doesn’t know.”

Pandora sips orange juice through a straw, white-blonde brows bunched together. “Doesn’t it
bother you that James doesn’t care?”

“No.”

In response, he’s leveled by two pointed looks that plainly say: you’re full of shit.
“Okay, yes. I care that he doesn’t care,” Regulus snaps. He pushes up on his elbows,
cognizant of his phone left facedown beside his textbook. It’s been a few hours since his last
text from James, and it’s nearly ten p.m. in Singapore. Is he sleeping? At dinner? Or maybe
he’s decided to give Regulus a taste of his own medicine and is busy fucking someone else
just to scratch an itch.

The thought makes his blood heat to a boil.

Lily sighs a bit too dramatically. “If you care that he doesn’t care, then maybe you should tell
him you care and find out why he doesn’t care?”

“If I took a shot for every time you just said ‘care,’ I wouldn’t give a shit about anything right
now.” Regulus pushes himself into a sitting position and rests his chin on his fist. The girls
watch him expectantly. “I just don’t want to involve him in my mess. You know? He doesn’t
need to know about all of…that.”

“And what’s ‘that,’ exactly?” asks Pandora. “The bit about your insane Big Brother family, or
the part that came after you left them when you kinda went off the rails?”

“See? You’re proving my point.”

“Are you sure it’s that and not something else?” Lily prods, one ginger brow arched. “Like,
for example, your crippling need to hurt someone before they hurt you even if they never
intended to hurt you at all?”

Regulus scowls at her. “You’ve been insufferable ever since you started your practicals. Save
the therapy for your patients.”

“Why would I do that when I can make a perfectly good case out of you?” Her smile is razor
sharp, but not unkind. She knows he’s deflecting—because he knows she’s right. “You could
do what most people do and give it a shot. You gave it a shot with Barty and Evan, but your
world didn’t come crashing down when it didn’t work out.”

“That’s different. That was an accident.”

Pandora snorts a laugh. “Sure, if falling into bed with not one but two men at the same time
can be considered an accident.”

Regulus lobs his pen at her, but she ducks out of the way just in time. “It was! It’s not the
same. We didn’t go on dates or anything. It just…happened. And we were already friends so
it was easy to go back to that. James is different. He tried to take me to fucking Italy.”

“Still think you should’ve went,” Lily remarks, reaching to grab Regulus’ pen. It’s stuck
upright between the sofa cushions. “If Pandora offered to take me on a date to Italy, I would
go.”

“Do you want me to?” asks Pandora, tilting her head to look up at her girlfriend. “We can go,
if you want. I can’t do the whole private jet thing, but the Eurostar is—”

“Not in my living room, please and thank you.”

Both girls glower, but Pandora returns to the issue at hand. “I still think you should dump—
what’s his name again? Colin?”

“Connor.”

“Oh. Close enough.” Pandora tongues the inside of her cheek in an attempt to hide her grin at
Regulus’ irritated huff. “Look, James seems to really like you. At the very least, he’s
extremely interested. He gets you off on the phone, at work… He’s texting you. Calling you
in the middle of the night despite his schedule. He’s tolerating your bullshit with this Connor
guy. He might actually be a good thing for you, Reggie.”

“I am notoriously great at ruining good things.”

“Has anyone ever told you that your attitude is abysmal?” asks Lily, chewing on the end of
Regulus’ pen.

“Yes,” he replies. “You do. All of the time.”

Lily simply smiles and goes back to her textbook, and the conversation is, at least for the rest
of the day, no longer on the table.

After the girls leave, Regulus puts music on at a decibel high enough to bother his neighbors.
The quiet feels too loud after the girls’ presence in his flat. Not to mention his phone, which
has been silent all afternoon. James hasn’t read his last text, though this doesn’t mean
anything.

It’s after six p.m. in London, so two a.m. in Singapore. James is probably sleeping. He might
keep weird hours like Regulus, but he’s been so busy… Does he even have time to bring
someone back to his hotel room? Or would he make time, like the way he’s created small
pockets in his day to talk to Regulus?

“Quit fucking worrying about it,” he mumbles under his breath, forehead pressed against cool
tile while steam swirls around him. “You’re about to sleep with someone else. Why can’t
he?”

The words echo unanswered off his bathroom walls.

His night starts much the same as it has the last few. Connor appears on his doorstep with
Chinese takeaway and a bright smile. Says, Hi, baby, you smell nice, and leans down to kiss
him. He doesn’t feel anything when it happens, even though he expects his stomach to swoop
or his heart to trip. It should, shouldn’t it? If it did, then Connor and James would be the same
—because a hi, baby from James turns him warm and syrupy, like treacle.

“Wanna watch a film?” asks Connor, setting the takeaway on Regulus’ kitchen counter. He’s
in jeans, a black jumper, and trainers. Casual. “I saw a preview for one the other day. Looked
brilliant.”

“Sure.”

Connor glances up with a frown. “Or we can do something else if you’re not up for a film.”
“We just spend a lot of time in my flat,” Regulus says, careful to keep his tone neutral. He
leans on the kitchen island, rolling the bar through his tongue anxiously around in his mouth.
“How many films can we ‘watch’—” He adds air quotes with a bite; it’s not as if they’ve
fully finished a film a single time this week, “—before you’re bored of them?”

“After a long day at work, it’s nice to come here and relax.” Connor opens various cabinets to
grab plates and glasses. Finds silverware in the drawer by the sink. Something about the
familiarity of it irks Regulus. It hasn’t even been two weeks—how is this man so comfortable
in his space?

Because you keep allowing him in it. It’s a nagging voice laced with judgment.

“I like spending time with you,” continues Connor. “Is that so wrong?”

“You like fucking me. They’re not the same thing.” Regulus reaches for one of the takeaway
containers. He’s not really hungry, but he’ll munch on sticky rice to have something to do.
The weight of his silent phone in the pocket of his joggers is only adding insult to injury.

Connor, for all of his perfect hair and skin and teeth, looks a bit rumpled at Regulus’ biting
tone. “You keep inviting me to your flat. We cuddle on the couch. You don’t exactly stop me?
If you don’t want to have sex, that’s fine. Just say that. No need to be a dick about it because
I want to and you allow it.”

“Fine.” Regulus searches through his fridge for something, anything to take the edge off.
There’s tequila in the freezer, but he knows better than to drink it when he’s this wound up.
Eventually, he grabs a bottle of wine and sets it on the counter.

“White wine and Chinese food?” asks Connor, a little surprised.

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to.”

Connor frowns, then shakes his head. “No, no. Get me a glass. I’ll drink.”

They end up watching a little more than two hours of a three and a half hour movie. Regulus
picks at a plate of rice and orange chicken, but he eventually sets it aside. He doesn’t have an
appetite. The wine probably isn’t helping, but it’s at least undone the knot in his gut.

“DiCaprio is fucking great in this,” remarks Connor, stretching out with his ankles crossed on
the coffee table. He reaches for Regulus, who lets himself be pulled on top of a firm chest. In
truth, he hasn’t really been watching. The wine has made him just tipsy enough that his focus
comes and goes. “Do you think he’ll win an Oscar for it?”

“Maybe. Dunno.”

“Would be cool if he did. Poor man never wins Oscars.”

Regulus replies with a noncommittal hum. Connor smells of Armani. Acqua Di Giò, to be
specific. Regulus recognizes it; he used to have a client who wore so much it hung around
him like a cloud. He was a man in his forties and nice enough. He paid well, tipped better.
It’s been ages since he last came to the club. Months, perhaps. Regulus is so lost in his
thoughts about what might’ve happened to the man that he doesn’t notice Connor kissing a
trail down his throat. He pulls at the neckline of Regulus’ shirt, murmuring sweet nothings
against his skin.

James probably kissed someone in this exact spot before he went to sleep, the nagging voice
in his head muses when he considers pulling away. He didn’t deny he has men and women in
other countries. Isn’t that what all the rich guys do? He probably has plenty to choose from
who aren’t you.

Connor slips a hand under the hem of Regulus’ joggers to squeeze his ass.

He’s not special to you, and you’re not special to him. Why do you care so much what he’s
doing?

“Should we take this to the bedroom?” asks Connor, shifting under Regulus so they’re better
aligned from chest to hip. Regulus straddles him, one hand on the back of the sofa for
balance. “Or we can do it here. I’m not partial.”

“I’m not either.” James hasn’t talked to you all day. He’s not making time for you. He
probably spent his evening with someone else. Why would he call or text? “But the movie is a
little…”

“Oh, shit. Yeah. You’re right.”

Quit thinking so much and let this one have you. At least he’s familiar. You know it’ll feel
good.

Regulus squeezes his eyes shut, desperately hoping the thoughts will quiet if he focuses on
something else for a little while. Someone else, who is tall and broad-shouldered and
handsome. His hands aren’t quite right—not big enough, not gentle but still firm, not
calloused in the right places—and his voice has started to grate at Regulus’ nerves, but he’ll
do.

They start on the sofa and finish in the bedroom. The combination of sex and wine manages
to lull Regulus into a light, dreamless sleep when they’re done. He’s tired enough he doesn’t
even mind the heavy arm thrown over his waist. It doesn’t have the right shape, but in the
soft space between awake and asleep, he can almost believe it’s James’ weight on him.

He doesn’t know what time it is when it happens, but at some point, his eyes fly open.

“Fuck,” he breathes quietly. No matter what time it is, he’s not going back to sleep. He lies on
his back, the sheets a mess around him, and pillows an arm under his head. Connor is clearly
dead to the world; he doesn’t even stir when Regulus shifts underneath him.

So Regulus lies there, motionless, and stares unseeing at the ceiling.

After what feels like ages, he gives up on trying to fall back asleep. He manages to extricate
himself from a tangle of long limbs, and Connor mumbles incoherently before rolling over to
the opposite side of the bed. His arms and legs starfish now that Regulus doesn’t occupy any
significant amount of space.

Instead, he sits on the edge of the bed, head in his hands and eyes burning from exhaustion.
He craves sleep. More than anything in the world, he wants a good night’s rest. He took this
week off for the sole purpose of fixing his fucked up sleeping patterns. He’ll still work nights
during the semester, but at least he can pretend he has some semblance of control over his
circadian rhythm.

Sex with Connor helped for a little while. It exhausted his limbs, cleared his head, and he
managed some sleep, at least. He isn’t sure how many hours he rested, but he knows it still
wasn’t nearly enough.

On his nightstand, the clock reads 3:36 a.m. He’s familiar enough with the time difference by
now; it’s 11:36 a.m. on Friday in Singapore. Did James text him back while he was sleeping?
Or did he read Regulus’ message and opt not to reply at all? It’s not as if he owes Regulus
anything.

The potential for cavernous silence makes his skin crawl. Though he would never admit it out
loud, he misses James in a way he hadn’t expected to. Looks forward to his texts, his calls,
his funny anecdotes about his trip.

Exhaling softly, Regulus flicks a torn condom wrapper off of the back of his phone. He gets
to his feet to pad softly to his closet and grab a clean pair of briefs, then slips out of the room.
He shuts the door behind him with a gentle click, careful not to let it slam. He doesn’t want
silence, or to be alone, but he doesn’t want Connor in his space, either.

He snatches a throw blanket off the back of his sofa on the way to the kitchen. His phone is
on Do Not Disturb, the screen dim and notifications hidden. He fights the urge to check if
there are unread messages. Instead, he sets his phone face down on the dining table next to
the nearly finished Lego set.

He’ll make tea. Drink a glass of water. Find a snack. When he’s exhausted his options for
procrastination, he’ll check his phone—but not a minute before. No use fretting over it.

But it takes less time than he anticipated to make tea, drink water, and wash grapes in a small
bowl. He sits at the table with an irritated huff, blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders
and one knee drawn up to his chest. His chin rests on it while he fiddles with the instruction
booklet. He’s nearly finished with this set; a few more days and he’ll be able to stick it in the
guest bedroom with the rest.

Regulus waits for his tea to steep and cool to a temperature he can drink. He puts together a
few more pieces, humming a song under his breath. He munches on a handful of grapes,
shifts his position—dutifully ignores the existence of his phone.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters, reaching for it after an unknown amount of time. “Get a
damn grip.”
The screen reads 4:13 a.m. It’s lunchtime for James. But here in London, the sun will come
up in an hour or so, and in the liminal space that exists between dusk and dawn, he’s brave
enough to check his messages even though he’d rather not. His heart flips at the sight of
James’ name high at the top of his unread list.

James
Today is packed, but call me when you wake up.
Don’t worry about the time. I’ll answer.

He sent it at 10:42 p.m. London time, which means it arrived when Regulus was struggling
not to moan James’ name. Something terrifyingly akin to guilt gnaws at his insides, but it
isn’t for the man asleep in his bed.

Before Regulus can think twice, he hits the call button.

James picks up on the second ring.

“Hi, baby. One sec. Don’t hang up.”

Fuckfuckfuckfuck. There it is, that warmth behind his sternum he isn’t meant to feel. He pulls
his other knee to his chest and shoves his face between his legs, stifling a groan. He keeps his
phone pressed to his ear; James is talking to someone else. He catches I’ll be right back and
sure, sure, let them know the one o’clock meeting can be pushed to two and I’ll just take a
salad with grilled chicken, thanks.

“Sorry about that,” James says into the phone a moment later. He’s a little breathless, but his
voice is smooth and low. Clear. Incredibly warm. It drips over Regulus. Finds all of his cold
places and settles, makes a home.

“Are you at lunch?” he asks, careful to speak quietly. He really doesn’t want to wake Connor
now. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“I am, but it’s alright. It’s a little luncheon thing. Another meeting. Bloody waste of my time,
but I can’t get out of them.” In the background, the sound of cars whizzing by grows a little
louder. “What time is it there?”

“Four in the morning.”

James hums. “Can’t sleep again?”

“No.”

“Is Caleb there?”

“Are you ever going to call him by his actual name?”

James’ laugh is warm if not a little teasing. “No. Do you have any idea how many male
names start with the letter C? More than I can use in a week, that’s for sure. He’ll be gone
before I run out of options.”

“Your confidence is astounding. Don’t you remember what I said about knocking your ego
down a peg?”

“I’ll never forget it. You’re stunning when you’re spitting fire, especially when it’s at me.”
There’s a smile in James’ voice. Regulus wishes he could see it. “If it’s four in the morning,
that means you’re working on the Rivendell set. Almost finished?”

“Yeah.” Regulus lifts his head to scan the remaining pieces. “Might finish it tomorrow,
actually.”

“Are you going to start a new one?”

“Probably. I was supposed to fix my sleeping schedule this week, but it seems like that’s
fucked no matter what I do.” He can’t keep the frustration out of his voice. He drops one foot
to the floor and rests his chin on his knee. “Talk to me. Please? I don’t care what it’s about.
Just…talk.”

James is quiet for a moment. The sound of cars driving by has dimmed considerably, as if
he’s walked around the side of a building or stepped slightly away from the road. “Why?”

Because Regulus isn’t an idiot. Not a complete one, anyway. Over the last few days, he’s
come to reluctantly accept he sleeps best on the nights he talks to James. Whatever sleeping
drug is laced into their conversations seems to work even better than sex. It’s a terrifying
thought, but right now, he’s too tired to care.

He just wants rest.

“I’m an insomniac, too,” James offers after Regulus’ prolonged silence. “Haven’t been
sleeping well the last few days. It’s usually triggered by stress for me, and I’ve been really
fucking stressed since I landed. Yesterday was probably the worst of it, though.”

“Oh?”

“Investors. They skipped sticks and went straight for whole tree trunks up their asses.”

Regulus laughs under his breath. “That bad?”

“Miserable. Awful. I knew I was going to get bent over a few times this week, but I expected
them to at least use a little lube before they fucked me.” James exhales a long breath. “It’s
been one grueling meeting after another. I had to call my dad for advice on how to handle this
guy who wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise.”

“You do sound a little tense.”

“I just wish you were here with me.”

Regulus inhales sharply. He stills his absentminded fiddling with the tiny pieces in front of
him. “Why?”

“Singapore is beautiful. It’d be nice to leave these stupid meetings and see some of it with
you.”

“Isn’t there someone you can call?” he asks, careful to skirt around the question he really
wants an answer to.

“Yes, there is,” James replies. Regulus’ heart plummets until he adds, “I’m talking to him
right now. But he’s eight hours behind me and he has a life of his own, so…”

Oh.

“Singapore is probably a bit much since you didn’t even want to go to Italy, but I would
really like to take you on more dates.”

“You haven’t asked…”

James snorts. “You’ve been too busy fucking Carlos. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Connor,” he corrects, but his heart isn’t in it—and neither is the irritation.

“Baby, I don’t care what his name is. Actually, do you want the honest truth?”

Regulus swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. “Yes.”

“The truth is I fucking hate him. I hate that he’s in your flat. I hate that he’s in your bed.
Knowing he’s in it right now while you sit there unable to sleep will put me in an early grave.
He should be—Fuck, I’m twenty-eight going on eighty at this point.” James laughs, but it’s
humorless. “I know you’re not mine. You can do whatever you want. Fuck whoever you
want. But I’m only a man, and my self-control is barely hanging on.”

“You always act like you don’t care.”

“Yeah, well. That was before I spent last night alone in a hotel room for the sixth night in a
row, and all I could think about was the way you look when you come, and how someone
who isn’t me is getting to see it.”

There’s a slight ringing in his ear, a fuzziness in his brain. Lightheaded—that’s what he is.
Because James says it all so casually but with an earnestness that renders Regulus speechless.

He holds the phone between his ear and shoulder, gathers his tea and blanket, and slips out
onto the balcony. Cold air bites at his exposed legs. He hadn’t expected to end up here, but he
doesn’t want to go back in his room for clothes. There’s a small patio set made up of two
chairs and a tiny table.

The line is silent except for the distant sound of cars; James is waiting for him. He curls
himself into one of the small plastic chairs, blanket wrapped tight around his frame, and puts
his phone on speaker. He rests his cheek on his knee. Gnaws at his bottom lip, a knot in his
chest. “Why haven’t you given up?” he finally asks.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sleeping with someone else. You know I’m sleeping with someone else. Most men
would just…give up. So why won’t you?”

“Do you want me to give up?”

Regulus’ heart sinks like a stone. He shakes his head vehemently before remembering James
can’t see him. “No,” he says. “No, I don’t want you to give up. But I’m being a bit of a dick
about this. You have to agree with that.”

“I think you’re not used to letting people in. Especially men who are genuinely interested in
you.”

His silence is answer enough.

“Do you expect me to say you’re too difficult? That you’re not worth the trouble?”

“Most do.” Regulus closes his eyes. His nose, fingers, and toes are already stiff with cold.
“Or they just want sex, and once they get it, they leave.”

James makes an indignant noise. “And yet you’ve had the same man in your bed for over a
week now.”

“He still just wants to fuck me. We had that one little coffee date, but it lasted five seconds
before we came back to my flat. I don’t think we’ve had a meaningful conversation since we
met. He doesn’t really know anything about me.”

“Then he doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

There it is again—that warmth like treacle, dripping all over. Regulus buries his face between
his knees to hide his blush even though there’s no one around to witness it.

“Does he ever help you with the Rivendell set?” asks James.

“What? No. He probably thinks it’s weird I’m twenty-three and still building Legos on my
kitchen table.”

“If that’s true, then in my completely unbiased and not at all skewed opinion, he doesn’t
deserve you. Not your time and definitely not your bed.”

Regulus snorts sardonically. “And you do?”

“Not even a little.”

“Then I don’t understand.” Regulus raises his head to watch the sun peak slowly over the
horizon. It’s almost five in the morning. Connor will wake up soon, and this conversation
with James will have to end. If it does before Regulus can get all of the words he wants to say
out, he may never be able to say them at all. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want you, Regulus.”

“But—”

James cuts him off. “Benjy and Connor and other guys like them? They get the version of
you that you feel safe showing them. You show it to me, too. It’s the version in control of this
entire situation. The one that’s accounted for every variable and possible pitfall.”

“So? What version do you want if not that one?”

“The real one,” James replies simply, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “I want
the Regulus who’s not trying to stay six moves ahead of me like we’re playing a game of
high stakes chess. I don’t want to sleep with you while you’re still trying to figure out if I’m
pulling some elaborate stunt. I’m a pretty simple guy, Reg. I promise I’m not thinking that
complexly about it.”

Regulus buries his face between his knees again. “Then what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking about you, and what sort of dates we can go on when I’m back in London. We
can go anywhere you want. Do whatever you want. All of it is fine with me. It’ll be like the
night we went to dinner, but better. We can make a whole day out of it. I’ll clear my
schedule.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Besides, if I have to sit through one more fucking meeting when I could be with
you instead, I might lose my mind.”

Regulus grins into his knee, stifling a laugh. “Okay. Yeah, we can do that.”

“But I have a request,” says James, and though his voice is warm, it’s also firm. “I meant it
when I said I’m not sharing you anymore once I’m back. No more Benjys. No more Connors.
It was fine before I saw how you—Damn it, I can’t think about it. Not here. I’ll be hard as a
fucking rock, and I’ve gotta go back in for this stupid lunch in a second.”

The laugh in Regulus’ throat dies when the sliding glass door to his balcony suddenly opens.
Warm air from his flat floods the space. With it comes Connor, who sticks his head out,
squinting against the rising sun. He’s naked except for a pair of briefs. At the sight of him,
Regulus’ irritation spikes. He snatches his phone from the table, turns off the speaker, and
presses it back to his ear.

Connor clears his throat. “Hey, babe. I thought I heard voices. You on the phone?”

“Is that him?” asks James, all of his warmth turning to ice.

Conveniently, a yes works for both questions.

“Oh, got it. Woke up and you were gone,” Connor says. “Missed you, baby. You should’ve
woken me up. Are you out here talking to a friend?”

“Este hijo de la gran puta,” James seethes in Regulus’ ear. “Babe? Baby? ¿Quién te crees qué
eres?”

To Connor, Regulus replies, “Yes,” which earns him a haughty scoff in his ear.

“Gotcha. I have to leave in a little bit, but when you’re done—” Connor drops his voice low,
but in the still morning air, it’s not nearly quiet enough, “—come back to bed with me.”

James makes an affronted noise. “‘Regresa a la cama’?! Aja si claro, ah, chingado—”

“Actually,” Regulus says, ignoring James’ rant while it devolves into incomprehensible
Spanish, “I have a lot of studying to do today. I probably won’t go back to bed.”

Connor’s gentle smile slips a fraction. “Babe, it’s five in the morning… And I didn’t mean
let’s go back to sleep.”

“I know what you meant.”

“Then do you have to study now?”

“Vete a la verga,” snaps James, a little louder than before. “He said no, ¿si? Pinche pendejo
este. No chingues te voy a madrear hasta—”

Regulus pulls the phone away from his ear. The problem isn’t the heat in James’ voice, but
rather the way it’s starting to turn Regulus on. He bites the inside of his cheeks to keep his
smile hidden. Shifts away from the door, because he’ll be damned if Connor thinks he’s the
reason Regulus’ cock just twitched and his cheeks are burning.

“Babe?”

“Sorry, yeah, do you mind just…heading home?” asks Regulus, a little exasperated. “I’ll
probably be on the phone for a minute. My friend is going through something right now.”

“Damn straight I am,” says James lowly.

Connor blinks a few times, then nods. “Yeah, sure. Call me later?”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.”

“Will you give me a kiss goodbye before I go?”

“Agh, chingado,” James moans, drawing out the last vowel. “This is torture. No mames, no
mam—”

“Morning breath,” Regulus says to Connor with a slight shrug, and James bursts out
laughing. “I’ll call you later.”
Connor’s brows pull together. He gives Regulus a tight-lipped smile, but sensing the final
dismissal, shuts the sliding glass door and disappears. James is still laughing when Regulus
hisses, “Quit cursing his entire bloodline or whatever the hell it is you’re saying. He’s back
inside. He’s gone.”

“Fucking finally.”

“You know, you’re not acting like a very calm, cool, and collected CEO right now.”

James makes a strangled noise. “All night, love. Every fucking night and all fucking night, I
laid in bed thinking about another man inside you. I—Agh, me lleva la chingada, baby. I
think I left ‘calm and collected’ behind when you came on my thigh. I haven’t been right
since.”

Regulus runs his tongue over his lower lip, grinning like mad. “It’s kinda turning me on,” he
admits, shifting again. He hears a door slam shut inside his flat. “You should do this whole
English and Spanish thing more often. It’s hot.”

“Don’t tell me that. I have to go back to this lunch meeting, and I can’t think about you
turned on. Not with fucking Carl in your flat.”

“Connor.” The correction only serves to launch James into another unintelligible rant.
Holding back a laugh, Regulus leans over the arm of his chair to check inside the kitchen. It’s
dark. He can’t make out any movement. “I think he’s gone,” he says, interrupting James. “I
heard a door shut a second ago.”

“Then try to get some rest. I really do have to go, anyway. Can you do that for me? Get a
little sleep?”

“I can do plenty for you if you ask nicely enough.”

James coughs, sputtering, “Aye, puta madre, I can’t do a lunch meeting like this,” and
Regulus laughs a little too loud in the early morning light.

“Go back to your lunch, James,” he says, grabbing his tea from the table. It’s gone tepid, but
that’s alright. He might be able to get some sleep now. “Call me tonight when you’re back in
your hotel room.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

“Wait, before I go—what is it you said that one time? Piensa…?”

“Piensa en mí,” whispers James, an off center quality to his voice.

“Yes. That’s it. And that is what I’m gonna do while I take a long, hot shower.”

James chuckles softly. “I might make a Spanish speaker out of you yet.”

“Only the dirty bits. Have a nice lunch, James.”

“Enjoy your shower, love.”

“Oh, I will.”

Before James can reply, Regulus ends the call.

He leaves his phone on the kitchen counter while he washes out his mug. He catches a small
smile blooming on his lips a few times, but he doesn’t bother to hide it. A warmth has settled
in his chest despite the chill. His nose is still stiff, and his left ear aches from the cold.

None of it matters, though. He’s too caught up in I want you, Regulus and the real one. In we
can go anywhere you want and he doesn’t know what he’s missing.

It’s possible this is the worst idea he’s had in a long, long time, but he’ll try it. For at least a
little while, he’ll see how it goes. If it all crashes down around him, he’ll do what he’s always
done: get a little drunk, then pick himself up, download an app or two, and move the fuck on.
Get under someone else and get over James Potter. It’ll be his contingency plan—just in case.

But for now? He can’t deny he’s curious, nor can he deny he feels different around James
compared to other men. If he wants to understand the difference, he has to at least try.
Pandora and Lily were right, not that he would ever admit it to them.

Teeth chattering and a chill in his bones, he heads for his bathroom. He turns the shower
nozzle all the way to the hottest setting and strips, shivering. He hadn’t realized how cold the
air out on the balcony was, but it’s catching up to him now.

“If I catch a fucking cold…” he grumbles, toeing his briefs off the floor to toss them in the
laundry bin.

He catches sight of himself in the mirror—rosy-cheeked, a little flushed along his chest. His
eyes are slate gray, outlined by long, coal-black lashes. He rolls his bottom lip between his
teeth. Is James’ lunch going well? He sounded stressed before the conversation veered wildly
off course. There was so much exhaustion coloring his voice.

Still chewing on his bottom lip, Regulus reaches for his phone. Opens the camera. The room
has warmed considerably now that steam collects in the air. It’s risky considering James
might be in the middle of something important, but he can’t stop thinking about the off kilter
way James had repeated piensa en mí.

Regulus leans one hand on the counter, careful to maneuver his body so the dip in his waist
draws the eye right to his belly button, to the piercing dangling from it. It’s a silver many-
pointed star with an emerald jewel inlaid in the center. It’s obvious he’s naked from the waist
down, but he makes sure not to expose it; the counter’s edge covers him. He wants this to be
as much of a tease as James’ selfie had been.

He twists his face into a sultry pout, pleased when steam begins to cloud the mirror’s edges.
It blurs his bathroom and puts him in focus. Honestly, it’s the best picture he’s taken in ages.
It’s effortless. His hair curls delicately around his ears, his jaw. The ring in his nostril catches
the light. All of his best bits are on display.
Well. Most of them, anyway.

He’s relieved Connor didn’t litter his neck with bite marks, even though some terribly sadistic
part of him wants to know how James would react to them now. He can hear the low rant in
his ear, all the indecipherable Spanish lost on him but still thrilling.

Regulus doesn’t need to comprehend the language to understand James had finally snapped.
Whatever the trigger was, Regulus won’t lie—it felt good to hear proof that James is not as
wholly unaffected as he appeared to be. That he did care, even if he fought like hell to keep it
hidden.

Before Regulus can second guess himself, he sends the selfie to James. He doesn’t bother
with a caption or message; the picture says plenty.

And the reply is immediate.

James
If you’re trying to reach James Potter, I have bad news…
He’s no longer breathing.
Might even be dead.

Regulus
Really? Bummer.
I wanted to ask if he’s free tonight…

James
As a ghost, if you’re into that.

Regulus
I am if Ghost James can still make me come.
I might go shopping today.
Someone told me to buy myself something nice…
Does Ghost James have a color preference?

James
MEETING. LUNCH MEETING.
I AM IN!
A!!
MEETING!!!!!

Regulus
:)

James
Damn it. I see the tables have turned.
Regulus gives the message a thumbs up, sets his phone face down on the counter, and steps
under the hot shower spray. His muscles loosen immediately, skin warming to match the heat
in his chest. He doesn’t spend too long under the water; he’s tired, and if he’s lucky, he might
manage a little more sleep.

At the same moment he steps out to towel himself dry, his phone lights up on the counter.

James
Red.
Whatever you buy, PLEASE get it in red.

The sun has risen over the horizon by the time Regulus draws his blackout curtains closed
and falls into bed. He likes James’ message before turning his phone back on Do Not Disturb.
Then, with a slight huff, he throws the pillow Connor used to the floor. He’ll have to wash his
bedding when he wakes up, but for now, he’s content to replay his conversation with James
over and over until his eyelids start to droop.

Just before he falls asleep, he catches himself smiling—unbridled from ear to ear.
 lipstick smudged like modern art
Chapter Notes

they're becoming so agora hills 🫢

When he gets home on Friday night, Regulus tells Connor their brief fling—if it can even be
called that—is finished. He spent the afternoon shopping with Dorcas and Pandora who, over
steaming cups of cider, told him to get his shit together and drop Connor before he royally
fucked it up with James.

Telling Connor he’s no longer interested earns him the reaction he expects, which is a rant
peppered with insults. In a good mood and still a little fuzzy from the brandy Pandora poured
in his cider, Regulus allots Connor one use of the word “slut” and half of a “whore” before he
ends the call.

Later, when Regulus informs James that Connor is no longer a problem, James asks, “Did he
say anything to you when you told him?”

Regulus grabs a mug for his tea. It’s still early in Singapore, not even six a.m., but James still
picked up by the third ring. Groggy, voice thick and rough with sleep, he mumbled, Morning,
baby, and Regulus thought he might actually collapse. “I mean, he said stuff,” he hedges now.

“Anything I would happily beat his ass for?”

“It’s nothing I haven’t heard from other men. Slut, whore, whatever. But I’m f—”

“He said what? Pinche pende—”

“James.”

He stops mid-sentence and exhales slowly. “Sorry, love. But I still hate him.”

Regulus smirks at his phone. “I know. But it’s fine. He’s gone. When are you back in
London?”

“Early Monday morning around six. Why?”

He sits at the kitchen table with his tea, knee pulled in to his chest and phone set beside him.
Even though less than twenty-four hours have passed since he sat here and listened to I want
you, Regulus, it feels like it’s been days. He wants James back in London.

He wants James here.

“Monday is my first day of classes,” Regulus explains, chin on his knee and the little Lego
booklet spread out in front of him. He’s not sure what he’ll build next, so he doesn’t have
plans to finish this set tonight. But it’s something to do with his hands while he chats with
James.

“Do you have work?”

“No, not during the week. I’ll only work Friday and Saturday nights from now until term
ends.”

James makes a noncommittal noise, and Regulus can’t help but smile. Feigning nonchalance,
he adds, “I’ll have a busy week, but my evenings are free after four…”

“Are they now?”

“Mhm. And I usually take the tube to get to campus, so I’m not opposed to someone picking
me up. If he wants, of course.”

“Oh, he wants. Very, very much.” He can hear the smile growing in James’ voice. “But I
can’t do Monday since I have some debriefing stuff I can’t miss. Tuesday to Thursday,
though? I’m yours.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“What about Friday? Saturday?”

“Ah, about that…” James’ tone dips into solemnity. “I have to be honest with you, love. My
Fridays and Saturdays belong to someone else.”

Regulus stills, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“I haven’t wanted to tell you about him, but I think it might be time… See, he’s gorgeous,
first of all. An absolute fucking stunner. And—”

Oh. Regulus’ cheeks warm, and he whispers, “Cut it out.”

“—he’s got these beautiful gray eyes. The prettiest black curls—”

“James.”

“He doesn’t smile often, but when he does, it lights up the whole room. Can’t look away from
—”

Regulus makes a soft noise of protest. He tucks his face in the neckline of his oversized shirt,
mumbling, “Shut up. You’re embarrassing me. And you’re being cheesy.”

“Am I? Huh. I had no idea.”

“I know you’re smiling. I can hear it in your voice. You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

“Hilarious, actually.”

Regulus rolls his eyes and pops back out from his shirt. “Is there anything else you like about
him?”

“I thought you said I’m being cheesy,” James teases. “Now you want to hear more?”

“I’m just…curious. That’s all.”

“Bet you are. Hm… Ah. He does this thing when he’s on stage where he… Did I mention his
insane levels of flexibility? Look, I’m not proud of it, but I’ve spent many nights wondering
how to make use of the way his body bends. It’s actually my darkest secret.”

Regulus stifles a laugh in his elbow. “Now you’re being gross!”

“I’m a man.”

“So am I!” Regulus protests, even as his laugh echoes off the walls. “But I’m not thinking
filthy thoughts.”

“No? I find that very hard to believe.”

There’s a dip in James’ tone from humorous to something rich and dark. Heat flickers to life
in Regulus’ middle. He loses focus on the Lego pieces he holds, especially when James
decides to keep going.

“You know, it’s been a week and I still can’t get the sound of your moans in my ear out of my
head.”

Regulus’ throat is suddenly too dry to manage a proper swallow. He reaches for his tea. Is it
hot enough to burn his tongue? Maybe. Does he take a big gulp of it regardless? Absolutely.

“It’s been terrible for me,” James says with a worn, dramatic sigh. “I sit in these meetings
with stuffy old men who are more stubborn than you—a feat, believe me—and all I can think
about is how gorgeous you look riding my thigh.”

He’s no stranger to pretty words. Men say plenty of pretty things to him all of the time. Even
Connor liked to whisper them in his ear. But James says them with such an easy confidence
that Regulus wants to crawl under his table and hide. He’s thousands of miles and entire
countries away, but it doesn’t matter. The power James holds is immense—and terrifying.

“I bought something today,” Regulus blurts, desperate to even the playing field.

“Oh?”

“Mhm. It’s… I think you’ll like it.”

“Is it something you’ll wear for work?”

It could be, but Regulus shakes his head. “No. No, it’s something I’ll wear for you.”

The answering silence is deafening.

“James?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m here. Sort of. Maybe. Not really. Jesus Christ.” He clears his throat with a
cough. “Can you say that last bit again? The part about you wearing it for me?”

Regulus’ triumphant grin slowly spreads. “You liked that, didn’t you?”

“Understatement of the fucking year.”

“I’m not sure when I’ll show it to you, though.”

There’s a brand new set laid out on the edge of his bed. It’s made with dark, cherry red fabric;
the color is stunning against his pale skin. He stared at it for a while when he came home and
removed it from its fancy box.

James is gonna lose his fucking mind. He might even have a heart attack, Dorcas had said,
grinning with her chin on his shoulder while he swiped his card. You should marry him
without a prenup before you show him. Just in case.

Pandora had vehemently agreed.

“I won’t ask,” James says airily, though Regulus can hear quiet desperation creeping in. “I’ll
let you decide when I see it.”

Heartbeat quickening, Regulus unfolds himself from his chair. He pads softly through the
living area and down the hall to his room, where the set still lies waiting on his bed. “I
thought you wanted me to give up control. Isn’t letting me decide the complete opposite of
that?”

“I’m trying to be a gentleman here.”

“Well can you cut it out for five minutes and tell me what you want?”

He isn’t sure what James is doing, but he imagines him sitting at a desk in his hotel room.
James groans, a low, deep rumble, and Regulus thinks of him rubbing his hands up his face.
Pushing his glasses askew in an endearing, almost boyish way. He runs his fingers through
his curls until they’re a mess. Pulls at them a little, and…

Regulus kicks his door shut to lean against it, one hand already dipping into his joggers. He
doesn’t bother with pants when he’s at home, so the first brush of fingers along his shaft as it
hardens pulls a gasp from his lips. It’s a barely there moan, soft and teasing.

“Regulus, what are you doing?”

“Nothing.”
“I have to leave for a meeting in five minutes.”

He lets his eyelids flutter shut. In his mind’s eye, he’s in James’ hotel bed, naked and
wrapped up in warm sheets. And there’s James fixing his tie while he grumbles about
meetings and board members. He’s unaware of Regulus, who toes the edge of the sheet
slowly, careful to keep it from becoming too obvious. He exposes the dip in his back, the
curve of his ass, the length of a tattooed thigh.

James finally takes notice and pauses his rambling. He watches, gaze growing hungry. Says,
Fuck it, and undoes his tie in seconds. He never does make it to his meeting.

The fantasy brings a crooked smile to Regulus’ lips. His breath hitches when he thumbs
through moisture beading at the head of his cock. “Fuck the meeting. Skip it.”

“I can’t, love. You know I can’t miss these meetings. Don’t—” James groans, sounding
positively devastated. “Don’t you dare.”

“Then tell me what you want. Please?” He doesn’t care if he sounds needy. That’s the whole
point. “I can show you the set now, or later… I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Fucking hell. You’re gonna kill me.”

“James, please,” he breathes. Pleasure zings up his spine. He’s not even stroking himself with
enough pressure to make a difference, but James’ voice—broken, a little strangled—more
than makes up for it.

“You want to know what I really want?” There’s a slight edge to his words that sends another
shiver up Regulus’ spine. “I’ll tell you, but you have to say please again.”

“Yes. Yes.” He moans low in his throat. “Please, James. I—”

“What I want is to watch you get on your knees and take my cock down your throat until you
choke on it.”

Regulus’ eyes fly open, and his phone slips through his fingers. It lands with a dull thud on
the carpet. He has to steady himself on the bookcase next to his door, fingers white-knuckled
on the edge.

From the floor, James’ delighted laugh comes through the speaker and fills the room. “Did
you drop your phone?”

“Yes! I can’t believe you just—just said that.” Regulus’ head falls back against the door. He’s
aching; the image now planted in his brain refuses to leave. Damn James. Damn him and how
easily he can unravel Regulus. He doesn’t even have to really work for it; Regulus comes
undone for him in seconds, and it isn’t fucking fair. “Christ, James. A little warning, maybe?”

“You asked. I answered. Now I have to spend two miserable hours thinking about all of the
things I could be doing. To you, specifically.”

Regulus reaches down to pick up his phone. “It’s what you deserve for that line.”
“It’s alright. I’ll get to have my cake and eat it too soon enough. Bye, love.”

“Fuck off.”

James is still laughing when Regulus ends the call.

They spend the entire weekend texting. When James has time, they talk on the phone.
Usually it’s before the start of his day and when Regulus can’t sleep. During one of these
conversations, Regulus finishes putting together all 6,167 pieces of the Rivendell set.

“You’ll have to get another,” James remarks.

To which Regulus replies, “I have no idea what I want next.”

“Do you have any you haven’t done?”

“Plenty. But I only like the ones with a lot of pieces. Anything less than one thousand only
takes me a few days to finish. Sometimes I can finish them in a few hours if they’re really
simple.”

“Think about it. I’ve gotta get back, but we’ll talk later.”

On Sunday, Regulus works up the courage to take a whole slew of pictures in the red set he
bought. For the first time in ages, he decides to get creative. He sets a scene. Makes sure
every little bit is perfect, from pose to angle to lighting. He even puts music on, something
low and sultry, to set the mood.

The set itself isn’t anything particularly special, but Regulus brings it to life. The top is skin
tight, cropped, and sheer, with a high neckline he covers with a thin, black leather collar. It
was an impulse purchase when he bought the lingerie, but when he sees it in the pictures, he
knows he made the right choice. The bottoms are similar to what he often wears for work—a
garter belt and G-string—with sheer, thigh high black stockings.

He sets his phone on a tripod, rolls around in clean sheets, and has genuine fun with the
whole affair. What would James like? he thinks, bending himself backwards over the edge of
his bed like it’s his very own boudoir photoshoot. It makes him laugh in the soft orange glow
that fills his bedroom as the sun sets.

This last photo of him laughing with his head thrown back is his favorite.

He doesn’t send any of the full pictures to James. He wants to, but he also wants James to
appreciate the work put into each one, not glance at them under a table with his brightness
dimmed. As tempting as it is to surprise him, it wouldn’t have the desired effect.
Instead, Regulus crops some of the pictures. He chooses small, tantalizing pieces from his
favorites—a bit of thigh here, a sultry smile there, the glimpse of his belly button or a pierced
nipple—and on Monday, he sends one while sitting in the back of a lecture hall. James is
supposed to have a meeting soon, but the point is to tease.

And it works like a charm.

James
Hello?!?!?!
Is there more? What is this?
Regulus?????

Regulus
:)

James
Okay that’s cruel. What is this???
Tell me I can have the rest eventually.

Regulus
Please?

James
PLEASE tell me I can have the rest eventually.

Regulus
You can have it all if you’re good.
Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting?

James
Fuck the meeting. Let me see.

Regulus
Excuse you. I’m in class.
You’re distracting me from my studies.

James
You started this!!

Regulus
And I said if you’re good you can have them later.

James
Them? THEM???
As in MULTIPLES??

Regulus
Maybe :)
James
Stop it. Stop doing that.

Regulus
<1 Picture Attached>
:)

James
WHERE IS THE REST!!!!
Don’t tell me you’re ignoring me now.
Cruel. You are a CRUEL CRUEL man.
No wait. You’re a brat.
Am I being punished? Did I do something?
Baby your read receipts are on.
So you just enjoy watching me suffer.
REGULUS!!

Regulus
<1 Picture Attached>

James
Hooooooooly shit.
This is actually a form of torture.

Regulus gives the message a thumbs up before he puts his phone on silent and sticks it in his
messenger bag. He has to cover his mouth with his hand to hide his smile. He might be in the
back of the lecture hall, but this lecturer’s eyes are keen as a hawk’s.

That night, James doesn’t bother with niceties when he calls. He tells Regulus to get on all
fours in the middle of his bed, then talks him through one of the best orgasms he’s ever had.
It leaves him a messy puddle in tangled sheets, still shuddering from aftershocks.

“How do you feel?” asks James.

Regulus struggles to swallow. His throat is practically made of sawdust. “Good,” he croaks.
“Really fucking good.”

“Do you think you can sleep now?”

“Mm,” he hums, eyelids already drooping. He should get up and shower, but his limbs feel
like deadweights holding him to the mattress. “Might fall asleep right here.”

James chuckles. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Don’t forget.”

“I won’t, love. Get some sleep. You were so good for me.”
Regulus shivers, moaning softly into his pillow. “Wanna be good one more time. Gimme a
minute. I can… One more.”

“You’re too tired,” James says gently. “You’re already falling asleep.”

“S’Okay. I can…”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence. He barely hears James’ quiet laugh, or the
way he says, Goodnight, baby, before he’s pulled under.

Regulus wakes a few hours later. He rolls out of bed, stumbles into the shower, and despite
being half asleep, manages to scrub the dried sweat from his skin. Still groggy, he strips the
messy sheets, wraps himself in the duvet he’d pushed to the floor, and curls up in a cocoon on
his bare mattress.

His phone reads 4:14 a.m., and there are a few missed texts from James.

James
I’ll be there when your class finishes.
But don’t rush. Take your time.
Dress casual! Nothing fancy this time.

Regulus spends Tuesday with a ball of anxiety in his stomach. It twists, tightening each time
he thinks of James waiting for him after his last class. He has no idea what to expect. James
promised to surprise him with something fun, but he’s still terrified James won’t even show
up. It’s a voice of negativity that never leaves him alone.

At 3:52 p.m., his lecturer waves a dismissive hand. “You’re all free to go. Nothing more from
me today, but I’ll see you on Thursday. Don’t forget to do the online introduction
assignment!”

It’s a flurry of movement, of sliding chairs and laptops slamming shut. Regulus rushes out the
door before anyone else. He heads for the bathroom to freshen up, heart in his throat and
stomach practically doing somersaults.

He picked out a slightly oversized jumper this morning. Considering James’ apparent
fondness for all things red, he decided on one that’s deep maroon. He tucked the front in his
jeans. Untucked. Tucked again. Grumbled about how it doesn’t matter, you look great and
shouldn’t be this worked up, but still found himself agonizing over the details. The only bits
that didn’t require extensive fiddling were his Docs, thick-soled and familiar on his feet.

The midafternoon sun is still bright when he makes his way outside. People from class mill
about, chatting in groups. Some of them wave to him, and he shoots a small smile their way.
James texted him to say he’s here, which only worsened the knots in his stomach.

He doesn’t know why he’s nervous. It’s not like this is their first date.
But it feels different. After their conversations this last week and all of the late nights, he’s
mid-freefall and nowhere near the bottom. What scares him most is not knowing what the
bottom even looks like. It could be any number of things. The possibilities are endless.
There’s no stopping his mind once it’s started trying to account for every—

“Regulus!”

He inhales sharply, pivoting on his heel to find an Aston Martin parked on the curb. In the
sun, it’s a deep merlot color. James leans against the side, one arm raised to get Regulus’
attention. But James’ ostentatious car, garnering curious looks from students passing in front
of the lecture building, isn’t the worst of it.

No, the worst of it is James, who Regulus realizes he’s never seen outside of a suit. Fine
button ups and pressed trousers and shiny Oxfords—these are what he’s become familiar
with.

But this James is an entirely different breed. This James wears dark, slim-fitting jeans and a
black jumper, neither of which should be allowed to look as good as they do. This James opts
for worn, high top red Converse, and there are rings on almost all of his fingers.

“Hi, baby,” James says when Regulus is within earshot. His grin puts the midafternoon sun to
shame, and his cheeks push at his glasses, eyes crinkled in the corners.

Regulus stands a few paces away. His jaw snaps shut with an audible click. “What is this?”
he manages, taking in James’ relaxed posture, his wicked grin. “Who are you?”

“This is my second skin. It’s less ‘obnoxious CEO’ and more ‘obnoxious guy who drives a
sports car.’”

“At least you’re self-aware about the obnoxious bit.”

“Well, my Tuesday car is in the shop.”

“I’m sorry, your Tuesday car?”

James nods, grin stretching impossibly wider. “I didn’t tell you? I only drive the Lamborghini
on Tuesdays. The Aston is a Thursday car.”

“What do you drive on Wednesdays?”

“A Bentley. Duh.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Regulus’ eyes narrow. “If you really have a different car for every day of the week, I will
never sleep with you. You can have sex with your cars instead, you fucking weirdo.”
James laughs with his head thrown back. It puts the strong column of his throat on display.
Despite his threat, Regulus wants nothing more than to latch his mouth to it. He shifts on his
feet, glaring. James’ eyes sparkle when he says, “I only have one car, and it’s this one. Come
on. Get in.”

“You promise it’s only the one?” Regulus steps up to the curb and next to James. His skin
itches when James opens the door with a flourish. He doesn’t dare look up to see if his
classmates are watching this entire exchange.

“I promise. I don’t spend all of my money on cars.”

“Then what do you spend it on?”

“A very stubborn stripper.”

Regulus sticks out his tongue, unconcerned that it’s childish. He slides into the passenger seat
and dumps his messenger bag on the floor. “I’m not stubborn.”

“‘I’m not stubborn,’ he says stubbornly,” James mimics, shutting the door.

The inside of James’ car smells so much like him. Regulus almost sinks down into his seat
with a quiet, pleased smile. He hadn’t realized how familiar this smell is to him—it’s warm,
with notes of sandalwood and a subtle spice. Underneath it is a hint of what he thinks might
be inherently James. This smell is softer, more natural. It’s fresh linen, a citrusy shampoo.

James slides into his seat and presses the push to start. Latin music fills the car before he
rushes to turn the dial. He turns to give Regulus a full once-over. It’s deliberately slow, taking
in every detail. “You look good.” He smirks when he works his way back up to undoubtedly
find Regulus flushed. “Very good. Stunning, actually.”

“You’re being cheesy again. Cut it out,” Regulus says under his breath, shifting in his seat.
He shoves his hands under his thighs to keep from doing anything stupid. He’s thought about
kissing James so many times that the desire is turning quickly from want to need. “Where are
we going?”

“Leicester Square for some shopping, then Covent Garden for dinner. I made reservations for
six-thirty so we have a little bit of time.”

“I get Covent Garden, but what’s in Leicester Square?”

The sunshine grin returns, and James simply replies, “A Lego store.”

“I can’t believe you’re using a black card to play for fucking Legos.”

James shrugs and holds the card’s chip near the reader. “I get good points.”
“Bullshit.”

“Maybe I’m just trying to impress you.” James shoots him a crooked grin. “Is it working?”

Much to Regulus’ irritation—yes, it is.

He thought James was joking when he said their date included a trip to the Leicester Square
Lego store. It seemed ridiculous. But James was adamant. You finished the Rivendell one, he
pointed out when Regulus continued to protest. If you want, you can consider it a selfish
maneuver on my part. You won’t stay up late to talk to me if you don’t have a Lego set to work
on.

“Let me get you a bigger bag,” the store clerk says after passing James his receipt. “One
moment, please.”

James shoves the card and receipt in his wallet before stuffing it back in his pocket. He leans
an elbow on the counter, cheek resting on his fist, and looks down at Regulus. “Is almost ten
thousand pieces enough for you?”

Regulus lifts his chin. “It’ll do.”

“Brilliant.”

The store clerk returns, sets the box in a giant yellow bag, and hoists it over the counter to
pass it into James’ waiting hand.

“I don’t even know where I’m going to put this thing,” Regulus mutters under his breath,
following James through the crowded store. “What if it’s bigger than my dining table?”

“Then I’ll buy you a new dining table.”

“You’re insufferable.”

But even as he says it, Regulus reaches out to slide his fingers into James’ outstretched hand.

It was strange at first, holding hands in such a public space. Regulus isn’t used to it. He
doesn’t let men hold his hand. Not because he’s ashamed of who he is, but because it feels
too…close. It feels like a beacon, like telling the world this one’s mine. It’s not something
he’s ever wanted to say out loud about anyone.

Until James Potter, apparently.

He doesn’t know how to feel about it. But now that he’s held James’ hand properly, he
doesn’t want to let it go. He doesn’t hesitate when James holds his hand out, palm upturned.
He interlaces their fingers, heart fluttering when James uses it to tug him closer.

The London crowd is thick with people returning home. They stop for hot cider, and James
sets the giant yellow bag on the ground between his feet. Once they have their drinks, he
holds out his elbow for Regulus to hook his arm around. He resists the urge to bury his face
in James’ bicep; instead, he pulls his lips between his teeth to dampen his grin.
“We have enough time to bring this back to the car before dinner,” James says, holding the
bag up for emphasis. “Do you want to drive or walk to Covent Garden? It’s really close, but I
don’t mind—”

“Walk,” Regulus answers immediately. He’ll mourn the loss of James so close to him if they
drive there. It’s better like this, with his arm looped through James’ and their steps in sync. “I
don’t mind the walk. It’s only about ten minutes. Parking will be a pain.”

James’ answer is to kiss the crown of his head and mumble, “Okie dokie. Then we’ll walk.”

This time, Regulus buries his face in the soft fabric of James’ jumper and lets himself smile
fully.

“Did you have a good time?” James asks as he turns onto Regulus’ street. “I know we didn’t
do much, but—”

“It was perfect.” Regulus’ head lolls to the side against the seat. It’s heated, and combined
with a full belly, James’ warm hand on his thigh, and several drinks, Regulus is a little
drowsy.

They ate Mexican food, though James told him nowhere in the world—except maybe a
restaurant in Mexico—could beat his mother’s cooking. Euphemia, he’d said, scooping a
corn chip into guacamole. But you can call her Effie.

James ordered half the menu despite Regulus’ protests they wouldn’t be able to eat it all. But
apparently he’d underestimated James’ capacity to store food away; every plate was cleared
by the time the waiter came to take it back to the kitchens.

“Try something with mezcal,” James told him when he scanned the drink menu. “It’s got a
wicked kick that’s worse than tequila, but they make good drinks here. You’ll like it.”

Regulus coughed like a teenager drinking liquor for the first time when he tried his cocktail.
It was made with the restaurant’s signature mezcal, fresh lime juice, and agave nectar. There
was even chili on the rim. “Holy fuck,” Regulus said between coughs. “What is this?!”

“Good, no?”

“Strong.”

James’ grinned behind the chili-coated rim of his own glass. “Strong, but good.”

In the end, Regulus drank two of the mezcal cocktails, and James bought a 700ml bottle to
bring home to his dad. The man practically came out of the womb drinking this stuff, he’d
said, shaking his head fondly.
After their cocktails and full from their dinner, they were both tipsy. They held hands the
whole way back to James’ car, laughing a little too loud. Strangers shot them scowls, but for
the first time in a long time, Regulus just did not fucking care about anything.

It makes the inevitable end of their date feel like the worst thing in the world.

“Did you have a good time?” he asks as James pulls the car up to the curb and cuts the
engine.

“It was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. Not including our first date, of course. But this
one felt…”

“Different?” Regulus offers quietly.

“Yeah. Not bad different. Just…” James squints down the dimly lit street. A muscle feathers
in his jaw before he speaks. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about you. About what I would
do if you gave me a chance.” He runs his finger over the steering wheel, expression
inscrutable. “I don’t know why, but I drove home that night with the nagging feeling I’d
fucked it all up somehow.”

Regulus frowns. “Fucked what up?”

“I really don’t know. You were just so guarded. It makes sense at the club because that’s your
job, but I didn’t expect you to still be that way off the clock.” James pales slightly. “Which is
fine! Really, it is. I didn’t expect anything. I still don’t. And maybe I shouldn’t have started
with a trip to Italy, but… I genuinely did just want to impress you.”

“Today was more impressive. I like the obnoxious guy with a sports car. He’s kinda sexy.”

“It’s the Converse,” James replies simply, knocking his feet together under the dash. “Always
gets ‘em.”

Regulus can’t help but roll his eyes. Silence settles between them, broken only by soft music
still playing. He fiddles with his keys, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. More than
anything, he wants to invite James inside his flat. After everything, is it presumptuous to
assume James wants him as badly as he wants James?

He decides to start small.

“Do you want to walk me to my door?” he asks, eyes still on the keys in his hand.

“Sure. One sec. Don’t move.”

Regulus stays in his seat while James gets out to walk around the car and open his door.
“You’re really committing to this gentleman thing, aren’t you?”

“My dad raised me a very specific way,” James says, grabbing the Lego bag from the
backseat. “He said, ‘You never let her open a door you can open for her.’”

“Her?”
“Let’s just say he was a little surprised the first time I brought a guy home. But he’s fine with
it. Ma is too. They’re traditional, but they’re also not. I got lucky. Come on.”

There it is again—the outstretched hand, fingers wiggling. Regulus doesn’t hesitate to take it.

The walkway to his front door feels shorter than usual. By the time he climbs the short steps,
his legs have turned to jelly. James stands a few steps behind him at the base of the stairs. He
passes the Lego bag to Regulus, who sets it down gently. There are only two insignificant
steps separating them, but it might as well be a chasm.

“I guess this is goodnight, then.” James smiles in a soft, demure sort of way. He nods to the
Lego bag. “How long do you think it’ll take you to put together almost ten thousand pieces?”

“It’s complex, so maybe a month. It’ll depend on how many sleepless nights I have. And if I
have to buy a new dining table to fit the damn thing.”

James chuckles, and silence settles again.

Regulus is going to lose his mind. He can feel it. He continues to wind the metal ring holding
his keys around his index finger. There’s a new weight in the air, like the afternoon was one
long, run-on sentence, and they’ve finally reached the period at the end.

He thinks the period should shift to a comma. That it should be followed by kiss me, please,
because it’s all I’ve thought about for such a long time. But he doesn’t know how to ask for
it.

No, he doesn’t think he should. Because wouldn’t that be a little desperate? Even though he
hasn’t stopped thinking about it for days, weeks, an entire month, if he counts the first time
he laid eyes on James under multicolored lights. Besides, is it so wrong to want a kiss from
the man who, just last night, coaxed him to add another finger, baby and it’ll be fine, I know
you can take it and—

“Regulus.”

He blinks, startled. “What?”

“Where did you go? You’re spiraling.”

“What? No, I’m not. I’m—”

“You are.” James takes a step up onto the first stair. “What are you thinking about?”

Regulus swallows and takes a half step back. “Nothing. It’s fine. I’m fine. I just—”

Another step. James is a little taller than him now. There’s a slight tug at the corner of his
mouth. He arches one brow but says nothing.

“It was really nice,” Regulus says in a rush. “Great, actually. A better date than I’ve been on
in years. Maybe ever. But I’m not very good at this part when we’re supposed to say
goodnight. I always feel a little awkward. I don’t know what to say or how to say it, and—”
“Have I told you yet that it’s really adorable when you start rambling on like this?”

Regulus scowls. Even with the thick soles of his Docs to give him an extra inch, he has to tilt
his head now that James stands next to him. He’s too close; the heat of his body fills the small
space in front of Regulus’ door.

“Why are you so nervous?” asks James, tilting his head with a dangerous glint in his eyes.
“Am I making you nervous?”

“I’m not. And no, you’re not. Don’t flatter yourself. I just told you I’m not very good at—
James?”

A gentle hand comes up to curve around the side of Regulus’ neck. There’s a thumb pressed
under his jaw to urge his chin up. Hazel eyes search his, and warm breath ghosts over his lips.

“Do you want me to do it then? I can show you how this is meant to go.” James’ thumb
caresses Regulus’ skin in absentminded strokes. “You don’t have to think about anything. Let
me take care of it.”

Regulus’ heartbeat is an erratic, messy thing behind his ribs. It’s made messier by the way
James draws him in with a gentle tug. He’s no better than a magnet to metal. And when
James inhales a steady breath, he feels the rise and fall of James’ chest against his own.

Closeclosesoclosewhatishedoingwhatis—

“I need an answer, love.”

His hands curl in the soft front of James’ jumper. Cashmere, maybe. You should ask. There’s
not a lot of space left between them, but James won’t close the gap. He watches, waiting. Is
that gold in his eyes? He waits, thumb gentle where it rubs over the sharp line of Regulus’
jaw.

“Regulus, baby, you—”

“Yes,” he finally says.

“Oh, thank God.”

Regulus knew it would be catastrophic. How could it not be when James looks like this and
laughs like that and says his name so reverently? Still, he’d hoped it would be awful. That
James would prove he really is all bark and no bite. Maybe then Regulus could’ve stopped
his own fall. Pulled the string to the parachute on his back and saved himself any more
trouble.

But no, there will be none of that.

Because James Potter kisses like a fucking dream.

Regulus melts into him the moment their lips touch. He’s only kept upright by the arms he
loops around James’ neck, the hand that cradles his skull and buries itself in his hair, and the
arm tight around his waist. Without all of this, he’d be no better than a puddle at James’ feet.

At first, it’s soft. Chaste. A little tentative. James’ lips move against his in a way that’s
decidedly reserved. It’s maddening, but James told him let me take care of it—and who is
Regulus to deny him this chance?

He seems to know what he’s doing. Their mouths slot together like they were made to.
James’ lips are plush and soft, delightfully warm, and Regulus wouldn’t mind if this was all
they did.

Except—oh. Oh, that’s James’ tongue running over his lower lip. It asks, gentle and without
expectation, but Regulus opens for him like a flower in bloom. He tastes of the chocolate
truffles they ate for dessert, of the chili on the rim of their cocktails, and Regulus will never
enjoy either of these things the same again.

He moans softly into James’ open mouth, lightheaded from the tongue rolling over his. Large
but gentle hands frame his face, slip into his hair, linger, and oh, he might be going mad. He
really, really might.

When James pulls away, Regulus chases after him. He licks at James’ lips and lets the
piercing in his tongue catch the top one. James chuckles, the sound a low rumble in his chest.
“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about kissing you? Actually, no. I’ll just tell
you. A lot. All of the time. Way more than is probably healthy.”

“Then I’m really confused about why you stopped? Seems suspicious…” Regulus bridges the
narrow space between them to take James’ bottom lip between his teeth. He tugs, grinning
when James swears in a low tone.

“I’m trying to be a gentleman,” he says even as Regulus kisses him fully.

Regulus groans loud enough for his neighbors to hear when James’ hands slide under the
hem of his jumper, fingertips slipping under the waistband of his jeans. It presses them
together, flush from chest to knee. Regulus tugs, pulls James with him so he’s caged between
his front door and this human furnace of a man.

“Come inside,” he manages between heated, open-mouthed kisses. “I want you to—”

James stills, smiling crookedly against Regulus’ lips, and with this, Regulus knows he’s lost.
Once more, the scale tips in James’ favor. “No,” he says, kissing the tip of Regulus’ nose, his
forehead, his cheek. “Not tonight.”

“Why not?” Regulus doesn’t care that it’s playing dirty. He drops his hand between them to
cup the growing bulge in James’ jeans. It earns him a sharp intake of breath. “We’re just
kissing, but you’re already like this.”

“If you could see what I see, you’d understand.”

Regulus squeezes, and James lets out a pained groan. “What do you do when I make you
hard like this at the club? What did you do the night you got me off over the phone? I know
you were turned on. Last night, too.”

James drops his forehead to Regulus’ shoulder. His hips stutter forward, seeking relief.
“When it happens at the club, I break every traffic law possible to get home and in the
shower.” He kisses Regulus’ neck, laughing softly. “And the night you got off over the
phone? I came twice. Made an absolute fucking mess of myself once and just…kept on
going. It drove me insane, and I loved it.”

“Then don’t leave. Stay.” Regulus arches into James’ body. He can’t get any closer, not
unless he finds a way to crawl under James’ skin, but he can damn well try. “Come inside.
Please, James. Do all those things you promised you’d do to me.”

“Oh, no. No, don’t do that. Don’t—” James’ hands flex at his waist. “I can’t—”

Regulus shivers despite the heat. He turns to nuzzle into James’ hair. Runs his tongue over
the shell of James’ ear to nibble on the lobe and whispers, “Come inside. You can fuck me for
hours just like you promised.”

“No, baby, I—Damn it,” James mumbles into his neck, voice dropping impossibly lower.
Despite his words, his arms collect Regulus to pull him closer.

“James, ” he coaxes, saccharine desperation dripping from every word, “quit fighting it and
come inside.”

It’s as though someone pulled James too tight for too long. A withered noise escapes his
throat, almost wounded, and Regulus is suddenly no longer on the ground. His legs wrap
around James’ waist on instinct, the door hard against his back, and their lips come together
in kisses too filthy for somewhere so open.

But Regulus doesn’t fucking care. He doesn’t care about a damn thing, because James is
falling to pieces. Despite the grip he has on Regulus’ ass, or the way he licks hungrily into
Regulus’ mouth, the low words he whispers are indication enough that his foundational
restraint is disintegrating.

“Regulus, baby, fuck, you taste so good pero no puedo, no—” James moans when Regulus
sucks on his tongue. It breaks him a little more. “Te deseo tanto que no puedo pensar, amor.
Espera—Fuck, you feel so—”

Regulus is so damn giddy with it—at least until it all comes to a screeching, terrible halt.

Someone nearby clears their throat with an obvious cough. James pulls away with a start, and
Regulus bangs his head on the door. He lets loose a litany of irritated curses as pain
reverberates through his skull. In a rush, the sounds of his generally quiet neighborhood
puncture their bubble. The moment shatters completely.

Chests heaving, they turn to find Regulus’ neighbor—a bitter old man with a misshapen bald
spot—standing on his own front steps. His dog, a small and terribly obnoxious breed, barks
once. Regulus flinches; the high-pitched sound is painful in the quiet evening air.
“Good evening,” Regulus’ neighbor deadpans, his expression pinched.

“Evening, Mr. Bailey.” Regulus has never hated his neighbor more than he does in this
moment.

“Hello there,” James manages, his smile a little lopsided. He’s flushed, lips slick with spit,
and his glasses are askew. His eyes are still glossed over with lust. “Lovely weather this
evening, innit? Taking the little guy for a walk?”

Mr. Bailey’s scowl deepens. “The forecast said there will be rain. And my ‘little guy’ is a
she.”

“Oh. Got it. My apologies.”

Whatever slow unraveling Regulus managed to do is ruined. James will put himself back
together in a fraction of the time it took Regulus to take him apart. “James,” he hisses, “put
me back on the ground.”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, sorry.” James gently sets Regulus on his feet. He adjusts his glasses and
rubs sheepishly at his neck. To Mr. Bailey, he says, “Sorry ‘bout that, mate. Got a little…
carried away.”

Regulus’ neighbor scoffs. He says nothing before he marches down his front steps and
walkway. He takes a sharp left to head down the street in the direction of a nearby park.

“Well,” James says once Mr. Bailey is out of earshot. “He’s a delight.”

“He’s got one foot in the grave but won’t go fast enough.”

James sputters a laugh. “He can’t be that bad.”

“He complains about every little thing I do. And every noise complaint I have is because of
him.”

“Exactly how many do you have?”

“Plenty.” Regulus crosses his arms over his chest. “I take it you’re not coming inside now?”

“No, love,” James says with a quiet grin. “I’m not.”

“Why?”

“Because I really am trying to be a gentleman and take this a little slow.”

Regulus groans, slumping back against his front door. “I don’t want you to be a gentleman. I
want to be too sore to sit down in class tomorrow.”

James’ brows fly up to his hairline. “That’s a lot of pressure.”

“Scared you can’t perform?”

“I know what you’re doing. Taunting me won’t work.”

“Begging almost did.”

James reaches out to gently flick the tip of his nose. “That’s because you’re very pretty when
you beg.”

With a scowl, Regulus bats James’ hand away. Hopefully his front light is too dim to give
away the blush on his cheeks.

“Before I go, I have something I want to ask you.” James stuffs his hands in the front pockets
of his jeans and scuffs his shoe on the concrete. “You can say no, of course. But I still want to
offer.”

“Go on.”

James takes a deep, steadying breath, then says, “Come to Milan with me.”

“I—What?” Regulus sputters. “Is this another one of your crazy date ideas? Are we jumping
from Lego stores and cantinas to Italy again?”

James laughs and shakes his head. “No. It’s for a charity auction I have to attend. I can bring
a plus one. And since I’ll spend the entire time thinking about you anyway, you might as well
come with me. If you want,” he adds in a rush. “It’s a three day trip. We’ll leave Friday and
be back in London by Sunday evening.”

Regulus leans against his front door, arms crossed and jaw set. He expects to feel frustration.
It’s what he felt that first night when James wanted to take him to Italy. And here they are
again; only this time, it’s backwards.

“You really don’t have to say yes,” James says, shoulders slightly hunched forward. “I want
you to come. I really, really do. But only if you want to go.”

“Why?” Regulus blurts, fiddling with the fabric of his jumper. “Why do you want me to go?
I’m not—I don’t have—There’s nothing special about…”

James tilts his head, frowning slightly. “I don’t agree with any of what you were just trying to
say. Me? I want to show you off.”

“Oh, is that all I am? A piece of arm candy?”

“Of course not,” James replies with a scoff. “That’s what I am.”

This pulls a bewildered laugh from Regulus, who shakes his head and mumbles,
“Insufferable.”

“Come with me, love,” James says earnestly. “Let me show you off. We’ll do the stupid
auction on Friday night and spend Saturday doing whatever you want to do. We’ll have the
day all to ourselves.”
Regulus licks over his bottom lip, pleased when James zeroes in on it, pupils dilating a
fraction. “Will we be in separate rooms?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Separate beds?”

“Not a chance.”

“Fine.” Regulus exhales with a dramatic, put upon roll of his eyes. “Then I guess I’ll go to
Milan with you.”

James steps into his space, frames his face with strong hands, and kisses him again. They’re
both smiling, which means too much teeth, but James doesn’t seem to mind. Regulus sure
doesn’t. It isn’t until his tongue slips into James’ mouth that James steps back, shaking his
head. “No. Not tonight. Just—Can you wait until Milan?”

“When is it?”

“Next weekend.”

“Fine,” Regulus acquiesces with a huff. “Can you wait until Milan?”

“Probably. Maybe. I think so.” James takes a step back and down a stair. “But not if I keep
looking at you. So I’m—I’m gonna go. Much as it pains me to do this, I’m gonna turn around
and walk right back to my car.”

Regulus grabs the Lego bag, spinning his keyring around on his index finger. “Will I see you
between now and next weekend?”

“Of course.”

“Good. You’re not turning around, by the way.”

James chuckles, says, “No, I guess I’m not.” He walks backwards down the walkway, his
eyes still on Regulus. “I’m just getting a good look at you because you look fantastic.”

“I’d look even better on my knees.”

“Oh, come on. That’s cruel!” James throws his hands up in defeat. “Alright, I can’t stay here.
Self-control is not my strength. Goodnight, Regulus.”

“Goodnight, James.” He laughs when James finally turns around to walk quickly to his car.

But before he ducks inside, James looks up one last time. “Dream of me?”

“You should be so lucky.” Regulus unlocks his front door and leans into it so it opens behind
him. “How about you dream of me?”
James sets his chin on his hand where it curves around the top of his door. He watches while
Regulus slowly slips into his flat. “Who said I don’t already dream of you?”

“Do you? Then what is it you dream about?”

“I guess you’ll find out in Milan.”

Regulus allows himself one last look at James before he lets his door shut.

With a soft squeak, he presses two fingers to his lips, leans his back against the wall, and
slips down to the floor. He wraps an arm around his knees, staring wide-eyed into the dim of
his flat. He can still feel the press of James’ lips on his. Can taste their kiss on his tongue.

Milan.

Oh, it could be a disaster. An absolute fucking mess of a time. But it should be okay. He
should be okay. It’s been a long time since he drifted in the social circles of the world’s
wealthiest; no one will recognize him. He can pretend he isn’t Regulus Arcturus Black, heir
to a fortune centuries older than he is, for a little while longer.

And if James finds out…

No. No. It’ll be fine. He wants to go to Milan. He wants to hold hands with James while they
walk the streets of Italy. He wants to fall into bed in a mess of limbs and frantic kisses, and he
wants to know what James is made of.

Regulus tucks his face between his knees and sighs, long and drawn out. It’s too loud in the
quiet of his entryway. It’s defeated, a sigh of acceptance, of inevitability. Of a freefall with
too many possible and terrible ends.

To his empty flat, Regulus whispers under his breath, “I am so, so fucked.”
 at least it’s the prada two-piece that i’m trippin’ in
Chapter Summary

milan, part one

Chapter Notes

if you know about the damagecontrol / jegulus / limo triad, then you can probably
predict what's coming... anyway, mind the new tags and i hope you enjoy :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Despite James’ hectic schedule, he carves out pieces of his evenings to spend time with
Regulus.

Mostly, they go out to dinner. It’s better for conversation, and Regulus likes that James
always surprises him with somewhere new. Sometimes it’s Japanese, or Italian, or Turkish.
Other times, it’s another Mexican restaurant that James touts as good enough, but still not
Ma’s cooking—you’ll see.

Regulus frets over the added you’ll see more than he’s willing to admit. It bounces around in
his skull when he’s alone, when he’s supposed to be listening in class, when he talks with his
friends.

He considers mentioning it to Barty and Evan, but decides not to in the end.

Ever since what Regulus considers to be their first real date, he’s become more secretive of
this thing between him and James. It’s a still-burgeoning flame barely borne from kindling. If
he allows too many hands to meddle, to mess, then it may die before he can nurture it into
something bigger, better, and real.

So he tells his friends we go on dates and he’s taking me to Milan, but he offers nothing more
despite their prodding questions.

On the nights they go out to dinner, the Aston Martin idles, waiting, outside of the lecture
hall. James tells him not to rush, but when Regulus is finally free, he races out of the
building, down a set of stairs, and across the grass. He slides into the Aston’s passenger seat,
grinning like a fool when James kisses him breathless.
He whines when James pulls away; it never fails to earn him a warm chuckle. “Hi, baby,”
James says softly, kissing his forehead before settling back in his seat. “How was your day?”

“Long. Boring. I might have a mild headache.”

“You hungry?”

“Famished.”

At some point during one of his many sleepless nights, Regulus started a note in his phone.
He simply titled it “J” and locked it against prying eyes. He adds to the list every so often,
careful to keep track of not only James’ likes and dislikes, but the little things he does that
make Regulus melt.

He will never in a million years show James the list, and someday he might have to delete it,
but for now, its existence brings a smile to his face.

One of the top five best things about James is that when he drives, it’s always with his left
hand tucked between Regulus’ legs. He curls his fingers under Regulus’ thigh, thumb
rubbing absently while he hums along with whatever plays through the speakers.

The only time Regulus reconsiders where this subtle touch falls in his rankings is when
James parks the Aston outside his flat, unbuckles both their seatbelts, turns, and kisses
Regulus with a hand lost in his curls.

They make out like teenagers on these nights, kisses building in intensity with each passing
minute. But no matter how many times Regulus whispers come inside, James still shakes his
head.

Milan, he says between frantic, desperate kisses, mouth working over Regulus’ jaw. It drives
him wild when James pulls away, but he’ll admit he’s started to enjoy the game now that he
understands the rules.

It’s easy to work James up, after all.

On the Friday and Saturday nights Regulus works, James comes to the club and pays for his
usual private dance. Eager to please and tease, Regulus wears James’ favorite outfits both
nights—the emerald number, and a deep purple moment.

Once they’re safe in the private room, he climbs in James’ lap. Slips his voice into something
needy and honey sweet. Rolls his body in a way he knows James likes.

After this and some gentle coaxing, it doesn’t take long before James growls at him to ride it,
love, ride me right now, and Regulus comes from nothing but the pressure and friction of a
strong thigh between his own.

They kiss languidly until Regulus settles back in his body, at which point he slips a hand
between them to press his palm over the bulge in James’ trousers. It earns him a broken moan
followed by a pained, “Don’t, love.”
“Are you punishing yourself for something?” asks Regulus, his confusion mounting. “You
never let me get you off. Why?”

“Because I want it a certain way, and it isn’t like this,” James answers through gritted teeth.
Regulus still pets at him. “I like watching you come. It’s enough for me right now.”

“And you say I’m the one with control issues.”

James buries his face in Regulus’ neck to nip at his pulse point. “I stand by it. But I never
said I don’t have a particular set of my own.”

The night before they’re meant to leave for Milan, James calls a little before midnight.

“I’m sorry, love, but I have a last minute meeting tomorrow that I can’t miss, so I won’t be
able to pick you up,” he says, his disappointment palpable. “I’ll send a driver, though. And
I’ll make sure he grabs coffee, if you want.”

Regulus, busy tearing open the ninth of forty-six packets that belong to his new Lego set,
takes a second too long to respond.

“Reg? You there?”

“Yeah, sorry. Legos.”

James’ laugh is warm. “How much have you managed to finish so far?”

“I’m not even through the first instruction booklet. It’s over two hundred bloody pages,”
Regulus mutters, organizing the new pieces. He groups like with like, then lines them up
biggest to smallest. “I’m almost done with the bridge and funnel bit, though. The bow and
well deck had me contemplating my sanity a few nights ago.”

“Oh, I remember. Vividly. You were swearing up a storm for an hour.”

“There are over three hundred steps in this first book alone!” Regulus reaches for a brown
piece smaller than his pinky nail. “They even have the swimming pools. And little beds!
There are so many of these little fucking beds, James.”

“Are you regretting this one?”

“No. No, I’m not.” Regulus clicks together four pieces, finishing only half of the two hundred
thirty-fifth step. Fucking hell. “I might complain about how intricate it is, but it’s the most
fun I’ve had with a set in a long time. It’ll take me a while, but it’ll be worth it when it’s
finished.”

There’s a beeping noise, then the whir of a coffee machine. “Will you display it in pieces or
together?”

“Seems a bit morbid to display it in pieces, don’t you think?”

“Technically it’s already in pieces somewhere.”

Regulus shakes his head. “That’s insensitive to the dead.”

“I’ll send my apologies to the middle of the Atlantic.”

Once he finishes the ninth packet, James tells him to take a break. Or rather, James tells him
to lie in bed on his stomach and, as soon as he’s comfortable, talks him through fingering
himself until sweat slicks his skin and he sobs into a pillow from overstimulation.

He’s lightheaded, trying to find his way back into his bones, when James tells him, “God,
you’re perfect. And you listen so well.”

Regulus groans and buries his face in a pillow. His cheeks are sticky with dried tears. “Quit
talking,” he mumbles. “I can’t take any more.”

“We’re done, I promise. It’s late, and the driver will be there at seven. You should get some
sleep.”

“I’m about halfway there, to be honest.”

James laughs softly, and not for the first time, Regulus wishes he could bottle the sound.
There’s something lovely about James’ laugh during these small hours. It’s always a little
quieter, like he tucks pieces of it away.

Regulus isn’t sure how big James’ flat is, but if it’s anything like Regulus’ own, then he
understands. Even now, when James is only a phone call away, laughing too loud in such a
large, empty space makes him feel a distasteful flavor of loneliness.

“Goodnight, love,” James says, a smile in his voice. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Mhm. Goodnight.”

When the line goes silent, Regulus rolls onto his back. It takes an incredible amount of effort
to swing his legs over the side of his bed and get to his feet. He’s sluggish. Tired. If it wasn’t
for the drying sweat and cum on his skin, he’d crawl under his duvet and fall asleep.

In the end, he stays up later than he intended to. The scalding hot shower relaxes his muscles,
but his brain is wide awake. If he wanted to, he could call James. He’ll answer like he always
does, and Regulus can listen to that deep, smooth voice until his eyes droop.

There’s only one small setback to this plan: his thoughts are spinning a thousand miles a
minute because of James.

He’s wormed his way into Regulus’ life with all the subtlety of a jackhammer breaking apart
concrete, and yet Regulus didn’t see him coming. He can’t pinpoint the exact moment he
started to miss James when James isn’t around. Or when he started looking forward to their
dates and not only the evenings when James watches him dance.

Maybe he should’ve stopped this. He didn’t have to drop Connor or ghost Benjy. He could
redownload every app on his phone and only swipe on men with dark curls, big hazel eyes,
and round glasses.
Requirements: must be filthy rich, irritatingly handsome, and (preferably) Latino.

Surely there are men out there similar enough to James Potter that Regulus could,
theoretically speaking, fuck his way to forgetting.

He just…doesn’t want to.

‘Similar enough to James Potter’ is still not his James, who wears beat-up red Converse to
expensive restaurants, buys chocolate bars with a black card, and smiles so wide his eyes
crinkle at the corners.

Sure, there are a thousand and one CEOs out there who could check enough boxes for
Regulus to feel spoiled and taken care of.

But they still wouldn’t be James.

It’s why thoughts of Milan, and all that could go wrong, keep him awake until dawn. He
would be an idiot to think James hasn’t figured out who he is, but it’s been nice to pretend
he’s just a guy who studies software engineering, uses Legos to deal with his insomnia, and
dances to pay his bills.

He’s still Regulus Black, but at least he’s the version of himself he wants to be rather than the
version he was born into.

No part of him believes James will be angry with him for hiding it, but a nasty voice reminds
him their dynamic will shift regardless. Regulus is the heir to an empire. Why wouldn’t
James want to see exactly how depthless his family’s pockets really go?

They could buy him off. Offer millions in investment. Regulus hasn’t been a part of it all
since he was eighteen, but will that matter in the end? He’s still a Black.

The thought alone makes his blood run cold.

He manages to make his way through a few more Lego packets before he calls it quits just as
the sun begins to rise.

It takes an hour to pack his small suitcase. He’s careful with his suit, a Prada piece that fits
the dress code of a black tie event. He separates it from his casual clothes—jumpers both
oversized and cropped, jeans, his favorite joggers. Before he can second guess himself, he
even tucks the red number near the bottom, stomach flipping at the sight of it.

He’s sent James a few more random cropped photos this last week. It always earns him the
same enthusiastic I’ll-die-if-you-don’t-send-the-rest response. James has even asked about it
when they’re mid make out, his thoughts derailing into you look beautiful in red and I want to
take a bite out of you every time you send a picture and where did you buy it so I can buy you
ten more and rip all of them off one by one?

Regulus tugs his bottom lip between his teeth, smiling despite himself. He’ll make use of the
set in Milan. He has no idea what James has planned for their day of freedom, but he’ll be
damned if they don’t spend the entire evening in bed.
Because everything will be fine. It has to be.

Ten minutes before seven, a car pulls up to idle next to the curb outside his flat. It isn’t an
Aston Martin, but rather a sleek, black Bentley with limo-tinted windows. An older man
sporting a well-manicured, handlebar mustache and broad shoulders greets him with a gruff
good morning, Mr. Black and a cup of coffee.

Regulus slips into the Bentley’s backseat, teeth clicking together from the early morning
chill. He opted for a thinner jumper, loose jeans, and his usual Docs. If James keeps the
inside of his plane warmer than a commercial airline usually does, then Regulus doesn’t feel
like collapsing with heatstroke.

But it means he’s currently very fucking cold.

Thankfully, the driver, George, turns the Bentley’s heat to a comfortable temperature. He
drives in silence with music coming through the speakers at a low volume.

Despite his coffee, the forty minute drive lulls Regulus into a half-asleep, half-awake state.
He doesn’t see the passing streets of London or pay attention to the traffic. So when the car
comes to a stop and George says, “Mr. Black, we’re here,” he jolts awake with a start.

The private airstrip is busier than he expected it to be at eight a.m. George pulled the Bentley
to a stop near a plane with Potter Industries, Inc. printed on its side. The forward cabin door
is open, and a woman stands at the bottom of a staircase. She shouts words he can’t hear,
hands cupped around her mouth.

He steps out of the Bentley and stretches his arms overhead. The sun still hasn’t risen fully,
but it’s at least a little warmer here than it was at his flat. George sets his suitcase down with
a soft smile, and Regulus thanks him before stepping away from the car.

There’s another Bentley parked a short distance from where he stands. It idles, the driver’s
side facing away from him. He watches, unsure if this is James’ car or someone else.

Then he hears a familiar voice say, “Thanks, Pete. I owe you one,” and James straightens to
his full height. He taps the roof of the Bentley twice, and the driver eases it forward until
James stands alone with a cup of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other.

He barely has a chance to look up from the screen before Regulus has marched across the
distance and thrown his arms around James’ neck. He has to push up on his tiptoes to bury
his face in the familiar scent of a fresh body wash, of a citrus shampoo, of a sandalwood
smell he’s come to realize is simply James’ signature.

“Morning, love.” He loops an arm around Regulus’ waist, the other held out to keep his
coffee from spilling. “Glad to see you made it in one piece.”

“George is a good driver.”

“He’s my best, actually.” He tightens his hold around Regulus’ middle, grunting a little from
the effort it takes to hoist him off the ground. His legs wrap around James’ waist, and he has
to bury his smile in the curve of James’ shoulder. “Did you sleep?”

“Not really,” he admits reluctantly. He holds tight to James as they cross the tarmac. The knot
of anxiety that’s plagued him all morning slowly eases.

“Why? You seemed tired when I hung up.”

“I—” He doesn’t want to tell James about his racing thoughts. They’ll invite too many
questions, and they’re not in Milan yet. He can pretend for a little while longer. “I took too
hot of a shower,” he says instead. “It woke me back up.”

“Hm. I see.” James sips his coffee over Regulus’ shoulder. “You should’ve called. I was
awake for a bit.”

“I didn’t want to keep you up.”

“You do whether you realize it or not.” Before Regulus can ask what he means, James calls
out, “Morning, Frank! How’s she doing today?”

Regulus cranes his neck around to find a tall, lanky man at the top of the staircase leading
into the plane. He’s in a pilot’s uniform with his hat in hand. He waves it around overhead,
grinning. “Mornin’! She’s good. Ready to go. We’re scheduled for takeoff in twenty, so we
should get moving.”

“I can walk,” Regulus hisses when James makes no move to set him down. “You don’t have
to carry me.”

“What if I want to?”

He pulls back to look at James. It’s unfair how fantastic the early morning sun looks on his
skin. “What if you fall down the stairs?”

“I won’t.”

“Still.” He pokes at James’ chest, grumbling, but James merely kisses him quiet.

“Oi! You two!” This voice is female and unfamiliar. “Quit making out. The plane will leave
with or without you!”

James chuckles, kisses him one more time, then sets him back on the tarmac. “That would be
Alice. I promise she’s lovely.”

A long, long time has passed since Regulus last boarded a private plane. Despite this, it takes
half a second for him to realize the aura inside James’ jet is leagues different than his parents’
had been.

James leans against the frame of the cockpit’s doorway, laughing while he talks to the pilot,
Frank. He introduced himself to Regulus with a firm handshake and a warmly said, “Good
morning. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
His wife, Alice, and another woman named Emmeline are the plane’s flight attendants. They
both offer Regulus a friendly welcome, and Alice tells him to make himself at home. A third
woman, Mary, introduces herself as James’ assistant. Her handshake is as firm as Frank’s, but
her smile is gentle.

“I keep him in line,” she explains.

“This is true,” James says over his shoulder. “Without her I would have no idea what day it
is.”

“Even with me you never know what fucking day it is,” Mary mutters. She shakes her head
and returns to her laptop on the table in front of her.

The plane is spacious and new. There are four single seats on either side of the middle aisle;
they face each other over small tables. Behind them, a couch lines one side of the plane with
what appears to be a mini bar across from it. There’s a door further back, but it’s closed.

It’s a familiar layout not unlike his parents’ jet, though they opted for more opulent carpets
and furnishings.

“My parents use it more than I do,” James offers, sidling up behind Regulus. He nudges his
lower back gently. “Sit, love. Get comfortable. We’re taking off soon.” He sets his coffee on
the table and pulls a MacBook from a briefcase near his feet.

“Where do they go?” Regulus slips into the empty seat across from James, careful to keep his
limbs out of the aisle. “Your parents, I mean.”

“Back and forth from Mexico. My dad bought a ranch in Guadalajara two years ago, and then
a beach house for my mum near Puerto Vallarta last summer. They still live in England to be
near me, but they both hate the winter months. And Pa says there’s too much rain.”

Alice and Emmeline walk up and down the aisle to finish last minute preparations. Instead of
the terrified rigidity of the Black family’s attendants, these women joke with one another.

Alice even volleys gentle insults at her husband, who reminds her he’s piloting the whole
damn thing. James seems amused by the lighthearted teasing. He smirks when Emmeline
scoffs at Frank’s threat.

“As if you would ever let this plane go down while your wife is in it,” she says, dipping into
a cabinet under the mini bar. There’s a small espresso machine on the counter Regulus hadn’t
noticed.

“That’s why Alice always comes with us,” Mary points out, kicking off red bottoms to set her
feet on the chair opposite her own. “Less of a chance Frank will get tired of our teasing and
put the plane on a vertical path to the ground.”

In some bizarre way, it feels like intruding on a fine-tuned dynamic. The easy conversation
and warmth reminds Regulus of Friday Film Nights with his friends.
It’s in the way Alice shoves Frank’s shoulders, giggling, that reminds him of Pandora and
Lily. It’s in Emmeline, who bends down to carefully right Mary’s Louboutins before giving
her a quick kiss. This is Evan, who always fixes without complaint the chaos Barty leaves in
his wake.

“You alright, love?” asks James, nudging his foot under the table. “You look a little spooked.
Not a fan of planes?”

“No, no. It’s not that. It’s just…”

Different. All of it. This isn’t the cold wealth of his childhood, where money made him better
simply because he was born with more of it. James’ team clearly respects him, and he
respects them. But none of it is borne from fear or wealth. It’s earned—mutually.

“I like it,” Regulus says. “This. Them.”

James’ lips twitch at the corners. “They’re alright.”

“Oh, you shut your mouth, Potter,” snaps Mary, who’s just pulled a sleeping mask over her
eyes. “Alright? Alright, he says?! Em, did you hear that? We’re alright.”

Regulus doesn’t hear Emmeline’s response. He’s too busy eyeing James, who sits in his seat
with the ease and unguarded openness of someone at home. He sips his coffee, eyes flicking
back and forth behind his glasses as he reads whatever he has open on his laptop screen.

When he catches Regulus watching him, he grins over the top of his coffee. “What are you
looking at, love?”

“Nothing.” Regulus looks away, cheeks hot. James has a tousled, just rolled out of bed look
to him. It’s the first time Regulus has seen him in the early morning hours instead of in the
evening. His jumper is a dark, deep burgundy. It looks incredibly soft, and it fits him too
damn well.

“Unfortunately, I have a bit of work to do,” James explains, returning to his laptop. “I
promise I’m not ignoring you because I want to. But Mary will kick my ass if this isn’t done
before we land.”

Regulus glances towards Mary, who now has headphones on and doesn’t seem to be
listening. “It’s alright. I might take a nap once we’re in the air.”

“There’ll be fresh espresso in a few minutes. Did you eat?”

“Not yet.”

James frowns. “We’ll get something when we land, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Regulus runs his hands over armrests covered in fine, tan leather. The chair exceeds basic
comfortability. There are even cupholders to keep drinks off of the table, and a button on the
side reclines the seatback. Regulus fiddles with it for a moment, though his gaze slips to
James time and time again.

He’s focused, busy reading whatever is on his laptop. His brows bunch in thought, and he
sips his coffee absently. This time, he’s too intent on his work to notice Regulus sneaking
glances.

This is new, too. James usually works when they’re on the phone, and he sometimes answers
calls when they’re together, but Regulus hasn’t seen him working. Not like this. Not in
person. Every so often he forgets that James is running a company when he isn’t spoiling
Regulus with fancy dinners and expensive Lego sets.

Regulus toes off his Docs and tucks his feet underneath him. The plane has started moving
slowly in preparation for takeoff.

“I see you’re making yourself comfortable,” James says with a slight smirk. He glances up
over the edge of his laptop screen. “I’m glad to see it.”

“You know,” Regulus replies airily, settling in his seat, “I’ve never felt more like your sugar
baby than I do right now.”

“Really? The private jet is what did it for you? Not the random deposits when I was bored
and wanted your attention?”

“Nope. Besides, you have all of my attention now. I think it’s time for you to up your game.
Where’s my private jet? Or trips to Tahiti with your fancy yacht?”

“I don’t have a yacht.”

Regulus feigns a shocked gasp. “You don’t? But I heard all of the good sugar daddies have
yachts.”

This earns him a disbelieving snort and wicked eye roll.

“What? You don’t agree? Then maybe I should go be someone else’s sugar baby.”

“Do whatever you want, love. I’m sure there are a thousand men who would kill for the
chance to spoil you rotten.”

Regulus rests his cheek on his fist. He’s teasing, pushing buttons. Hellbent on finding the soft
part of James’ underbelly. He feigns a pout, drops his voice, and decides to go for the jugular
instead. “But don’t you wanna be the one who’s good to me, daddy?”

James spews coffee everywhere. He sputters, choking on the hot liquid, then swears under his
breath. “Virgen Santisima, Regulus, déjame tomar mi café. A little warning, maybe? Christ.”

“Oops.” Regulus runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “Tell me, which do you prefer—daddy
or papi? Or is it both? Should I alternate them? ‘Daddy’ today and ‘papi’ tomorrow?”
“Oh, fuck me.” James runs a hand up under his glasses. He pushes them into his hair with a
soft laugh. “Where did you hear that word? Vas a acabar conmigo.”

Regulus shifts in his chair and stretches his leg out under the table. His socked foot fits snug
between James’ strong thighs. He presses it forward, applies gentle pressure—and grins,
triumphant, when James’ cock noticeably twitches.

His voice is a low purr when he says, “You know I don’t speak Spanish. Translate for me.
Please, daddy?”

“All you need to know is that you’ll be the death of me.”

Regulus shifts his foot, running it over the growing hardness in James’ jeans. “Can’t imagine
why.”

A low groan rips itself out of James’ throat. A second later, the plane speeds down the
tarmac. James slips in his seat, pressed harder against Regulus’ foot.

“Fuck,” he breathes, nostrils flaring. He drops his head back, eyes squeezed shut. “I shouldn’t
let you—”

“You said I can do whatever I want.” Regulus’ stomach swoops when the plane lifts off the
ground. “And I’m having a lot of fun doing this.”

“Regulus,” James says lowly through gritted teeth, “if you keep this up, I’ll have to drag you
to the back of this plane.”

“Is there a bedroom?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. I knew it.” Regulus keeps his tone flippant while he gives and takes pressure, smirking
when James’ hips jerk forward to chase after friction. “There are other people here, you
know. Don’t be such a slut for it, daddy.”

James’ eyes fly open and his jaw drops. His eyes are dark, a little glazed. He wraps fingers
around Regulus’ ankle, his grip iron-clad. “You’re being a brat.”

“Well spotted.”

“I need you to behave.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Regulus.”

“Daddy.” The grip on his ankle tightens, and he lets out a soft gasp. James really does look
ready to drag him somewhere private. Much as Regulus wants him to, the flight isn’t nearly
long enough. In acquiescence, he bats his lashes and says, “Fine. I’ll behave. I promise. I’ll
be so quiet you’ll forget I’m even here.”
James rolls his eyes and releases Regulus’ ankle. “Doubtful. I can hardly focus on anything
else when you’re around.”

“Oh. Well, when you say sweet things like that…”

“Baby, no.” James adjusts himself with a grimace. He’s flushed, clearly flustered. “I promise
I’ll take care of you tonight. But you’ve gotta let me work, or Mary will rip me to shreds.”

“Fine,” Regulus says again with a sigh. He pulls his knees to his chest and leans over to lift
the window shade. They’re high in the sky now. All he can see is an endless ocean of fluffy
white clouds.

They have a little more than an hour before they land. Regulus spends some of it watching
James work, but when he inevitably grows bored, he drifts to the mini bar and makes himself
and James cups of espresso. Emmeline helps him find sugar and cream.

There’s still a knot of anxiety in his stomach about the evening’s events, but despite it, he’s
comfortable here. Alice and Emmeline giggle near the back of the plane, gossiping about
something on their Instagram pages. Mary dozes across the aisle.

James grins when Regulus sets the espresso down beside his laptop. He runs a hand up the
back of Regulus’ thigh and leans over to nuzzle at his waist, mumbling a soft, “Thank you,
love. I needed this.”

Regulus isn’t sure where this comfort came from, but he settles into it. He sits with his
espresso and tries not to acknowledge the alternative—that incessant, nagging voice of
negativity in his head that sounds so much like his mother’s.

“This is better than porn.”

Three identical sets of hazel eyes reflected in a triad of mirrors shift to look at Regulus.
James, who’s busy fiddling with his cuff links, smirks. “Like what you see?”

“Probably more than I should.” Regulus tucks his smile behind the rim of his champagne
flute. “Is there anything you look bad in?”

James cocks his head, deliberating. To his delight, Regulus is gifted with three angles of the
pose—four, if you count the one he has from where he sits behind James. “Polyester. Oh, and
paisley patterns. Those are ghastly. And I can see you looking at my ass again.”

“You looked at mine for an hour.”

“Fair enough.”
They arrived in Milan a little after ten a.m. James insisted they stop for brunch—nothing
heavy, but more than the coffee they drank on the plane. Then it was back inside another
sleek, black car to where they are now.

In all honesty, Regulus should’ve expected this. James seems giddier than a kid on Christmas
morning to spoil him, and what better way than with new clothes?

There are fashionable suit brands—well-known names like Prada, Armani, and Gucci—and
then there are brands whose names are more obscure. It guarantees only the wealthiest know
them well—Brioni, Kiton, Cesare Attolini.

Regulus’ jaw had dropped when James helped him from the Bentley and out onto an uneven
cobblestone road. “You’re joking. James, this is—I brought my own suit! It’s Prada. That’s
plenty nice e—”

James gripped his chin to turn his face away from the Brioni storefront. He met James’ firm
and steady gaze with reluctance. “Will you quit arguing and let me spoil you? You deserve
it.”

He couldn’t help it—he opened his mouth to argue anyway. Like a reflex, a thing he must do,
but James’ grip tightened a fraction, cutting him off.

“Be good, love, and behave. Let me do something nice for you. Please.”

“Fine.” Even though the fight went out of him the second James told him to behave, he
couldn’t resist sticking out his tongue. It was childish, ridiculous, but James tossed his head
back with a bright laugh at the sight of it.

It’s been a long time since Regulus last experienced the true luxury of the uber wealthy. For
all the money he makes dancing, it will never compare to this level of opulence. To a
stunning boutique storefront with pristinely polished floors and not even a carpet thread out
of place. To well-trained assistants who flit about, taking measurements and offering
refreshments.

When it was Regulus on the platform in front of the three mirrors, James sat on the couch
behind him with a glass of champagne in hand. He watched with open admiration while he
drank. Offered his opinions on the cut of trousers, on the sleeve length of shirts, on a single-
breasted versus double-breasted jacket.

And when the pieces of it all came together, he unfolded himself from the couch and circled
the platform. It was with a blatantly hungry and appreciative gaze that he took in the sharp
cut of Regulus’ suit, the way his curls blended with the true-black fabric.

“You are an absolute fucking stunner,” James had said, shaking his head with a burgeoning
grin. “Though I will miss the Docs. They’re more…you.”

Regulus’ cheeks warmed from the praise. Despite the suit’s fine material and spectacular cut,
he missed the heavy, familiar weight of his Docs, too. It’s just one night, he reminded
himself, fiddling with the ends of his sleeves. Everything will be fine. You’re with James. It’ll
be alright.

After a quick change, their positions switched.

Now it’s Regulus who sits on the couch drinking champagne. He almost refuses to blink
while the assistants help James try on different jackets. Every time he shrugs one off, Regulus
is rewarded with a glimpse of his back. The shirt fabric is too high quality to be see-through,
but the tattoo sprawling over James’ back is still a shadowed shape.

But as soon as he attempts to decipher it, James has another jacket in hand to try—and
Regulus is once again distracted.

“Thoughts?” asks James, rolling his shoulders to test the fit.

“It’s not bad. Could be better.”

“Oh?”

“The bowtie is terrible.” Regulus bites at the rim of his glass, contemplative. “I’d prefer a red
tie.”

James frowns, catching Regulus’ gaze in the mirror. “Baby, it’s a black tie event. I can’t—”

“Fuck it. Sure you can. You’re James Potter.”

“I’m sure the auction’s chairman will love that.”

“I mean it. Didn’t you say your company is always among the top five bidders?” Regulus
gets to his feet and wanders over to a tie display. There’s a varied assortment of colors. He
runs his fingers over a long, deep crimson silk tie. “This one,” he says over his shoulder.
“You should wear this one.”

James sighs and holds out a hand, wiggling his fingers in a give it here gesture. “I’ll wear
whatever you want me to. Even if it means I’m scolded like a child by no less than ten old
men for not following proper dress code. Wouldn’t be the first time, though.”

Out of curiosity, Regulus checks the tag before he hands it over to James. “Jesus. It’s almost
three hundred euros. Maybe—”

“Really?” gasps James, a hand over his heart. “Oh, that just might be what puts me over
budget, love. It’ll be difficult to squeeze it in with the suit that costs—” He pauses to read the
tag tucked inside the front pocket of his jacket, then deadpans, “Ah, yes. Four thousand eight
hundred euros.”

He shoots Regulus a pointed look, which Regulus returns with a deep scowl. “Don’t tease
me,” he snaps. “Not all of us spend this much money on suits.”

“It’s our first night out together.” James takes the tie from Regulus’ outstretched hand, then
fixes the buttons on his jacket. Regulus fights like hell to hold back a whine. Casual James is
his favorite, but James in a suit is a very, very close second. Especially one as finely tailored
and expensive as this; it hugs every line like a second skin.

“What difference does that make?”

“I want us to look good. Really good. Also, this is an Italian brand. We’re in Italy. It fits.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “I think you just have expensive taste and don’t want to admit it.”

“Of course I have expensive taste,” James scoffs, slipping the end of his tie through a loop
with practiced ease. “I’m with you, aren’t I?”

“Keep it up and you might have to cut me off the champagne.” Regulus shifts his weight to
one hip and crosses his arms, taking in James in his fine black suit.

“Why?”

“Because there are dressing rooms here, and I’m about five seconds from mauling you in
one.”

An amused smile plays on James’ lips. “Scandalous.”

“I’m very serious.”

“At least let me pay for the damned thing before you rip it off, yeah?” James slips out of his
jacket and passes it back to the assistant with a demure smile. “This one, please.”

“And the tie, Mr. Potter? Black bow, or…?”

“The red one will do.”

This time, Regulus doesn’t bother to hide his smile behind the champagne flute.

They have less time in their hotel room than Regulus would prefer, but he has the sneaking
suspicion James planned it this way. The moment they’re alone, he kisses Regulus deeply,
hands framing his face and tongue tasting of expensive champagne.

Regulus wraps his fingers around James’ wrists to hold them in place. He pushes up on his
tiptoes, leaning into the kiss. Moremoremore, he begs, hoping James will listen for once.
They have time, don’t they?

But just when he thinks got him, James pulls away.

“We have to leave in two hours.” He’s breathless, and there’s a slight waver in his voice. “As
much as I want to, we really don’t have time. Not for what I want to do.”
Regulus fights the urge to stomp his foot like a petulant child. “Is this what kids feel like
when they almost get their hand in the cookie jar just to be told no?”

“Probably, yes,” James replies with a soft chuckle. The sound trails down Regulus’ spine and
pools in his abdomen. “But it’s not a ‘no.’ Just a ‘later.’ When we have time, and I can take
care of you.” He shifts one hand to press his thumb over the center of Regulus’ bottom lip. “I
don’t want to rush.” His eyes darken, and he watches his thumb slip into Regulus’ mouth.

“Then you promise you’ll take me apart good and slow?”

James’ breath hitches when Regulus licks at the thumb in his mouth, the metal bar in his
tongue swirling around the tip.

“You’ve made me wait such a long time,” he murmurs, teeth grazing skin when he pulls off
of James’ thumb with an obscene pop. “Promise me, daddy.”

“I promise, love.”

Regulus smiles and slips out of James’ embrace. He spins on his heel, tossing flippantly over
his shoulder, “Then I’m off to take a shower. And you are not invited.”

Their room is less a suite than it is a small flat. There’s a giant L-shaped couch in the living
area, a huge flat screen TV, a full kitchen, a ridiculously large and comfortable bed, and a full
bathroom designed with white granite.

The suite wraps around a corner of the hotel, and floor to ceiling windows give them an
incredible view of Milan. The bedroom is massive, and the bed faces one wall of windows
with the other wall along its side. They’re too high up for anyone to see inside their room,
and nothing obstructs their view.

The layout fills Regulus’ head with too many fantasies. He has to turn the shower nozzle to
its coldest setting to keep from playing one of them out in his mind’s eye.

He’s been patient thus far. He can make it through a few more boring, bureaucratic social
hours until he and James have all the alone time in the world.

This is what he tells himself over and over while he gets ready. He repeats you can do this
you can do this you can do this in the lift. James fidgets with his suit, and Regulus stands still
as stone next to him. He looks so damn good Regulus aches to touch him, but his hands are
clammy. He spins the rings on his fingers round and round. His heart won’t stop racing.

Panic has set in.

The hotel lobby is stunning. There are crystal chandeliers high above them, and the carpets
are pristine, the marble floors polished. A man at the check-in counter ducks his head politely
when they pass.

No one notices Regulus falling apart underneath his luxurious suit.

He should back out of this. He should tell James he doesn’t feel well. He should apologize for
the time, money, and effort James no doubt put into today—and tomorrow, he’s sure—
because he needs to go. Back inside and into the lift, or even better: somewhere as far away
from Milan as possible.

He overestimated how much he could handle the stress of inevitability. Someone will
recognize him. James will know. His parents might be there. What if Sirius shows up? Oh, he
hadn’t thought of that. Not that his brother has been to an event like this in years.

Then again, neither has Regulus. And yet, here he is—standing in a crisp, brand new Brioni
suit outside of an expensive hotel while James talks to the driver of their limo.

His panic grows. Overtakes him. His ribcage isn’t large enough to contain it, and soon it’s
buzzing down his fingertips, spreading to his legs and toes. He’s not in control of his body.
He’s not even in his own skin when James opens the limo door and gestures for him to step
inside.

It’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.

His head is fucking spinning. It’s too warm inside the limo. It’s darker here than it is outside.
Regulus closes his eyes and wills himself to breathe. Five in, five out. Five in, five out.
You’re panicking for no reason. Five in, five out. Don’t let James notice. He’ll think it’s his
fault. He’ll—

“Regulus.”

—think he did something wrong, but it’s all you. Low voices, the partition sliding shut. You
should’ve told him no. You shouldn’t have agreed to this. It’ll end so bad, and—

“Regulus.”

Warm hands suddenly cradle his face. Familiar thumbs caress his cheekbones. He opens his
eyes, blinking several times. They’re already moving through the streets of Italy, but not very
fast. There’s too much traffic.

“What’s wrong?” asks James, drawing Regulus’ attention back to him.

“Your suit,” Regulus answers nonsensically. James kneels on the floor in front of him.
“You’ll ruin it. You shouldn’t…”

“I don’t care about the suit. It’s fine. Are you alright? You’re panicking. I can see it.”

“I’m—”

Terrified. Absolutely fucking terrified, because he worked so hard to get away from these
people. To leave this life behind him. He’s done alright for himself. There were bumps along
the way, but he crawled out of this world all on his own.

If any member of his family is at the auction tonight, someone will undoubtedly try to drag
him back in. He’ll have to fight again. It’ll be a nightmare. The same one he’s dreamt for
years.

“I need a different last name,” he gasps, panic clawing at his throat when he thinks of his
brother, his parents, his cousins and uncles and aunts. Any number of people might know
him. His name will make waves. “I need a whole new name. I need—You can’t let them—”

James’ brows draw together. He still cradles Regulus’ face between his hands. He’s so gentle,
as if it’s precious to him. “I know, Regulus,” he says softly.

“No, you don’t. You don’t know—”

“Yes, I do. I know who you are.”

The words fall heavy and terrible between them. Regulus goes rigid under James’ hands.

“I’ve known for a long time, love.”

“Then why didn’t you say something?”

“Because you clearly didn’t want me to know.”

“Were you ever going to say anything?”

“Not until you did. Or I guess until right now.” James frowns. His usually bright eyes are
terribly sad. “Is that why you’re panicking? Because you were scared I’d find out?”

Regulus can barely swallow around the lump in his throat. “One of many reasons, yes. I just
don’t understand why you didn’t want to say something. I didn’t want you to know, yeah,
but… All the money you’ve spent. The dinners and random deposits and…”

“You deserve all of it. And it wasn’t my place to demand answers. You didn’t want to be the
Regulus Black. You wanted to be…you. Whatever shape you wanted that to be wasn’t for me
to decide.”

He doesn’t expect the relief that washes over him. James watches him with wide, earnest eyes
that search his own. He knew James wouldn’t be angry—he doesn’t seem the type—but the
admission that he knew, that he knew and it didn’t matter, is still too much.

Regulus doesn’t think about it. Doesn’t second guess or question it. He simply winds his
fingers through soft, dark curls, and kisses James so hard he feels teeth when they come
together.

James makes a soft noise of surprise, clearly startled by the sudden shift, but he melts into the
kiss regardless. His hand finds its way between Regulus and the seat to settle on his lower
back, pulling him forward. James licks hungrily into his mouth, and it takes all of his self-
control not to fist his fingers in the front of James’ suit jacket.

They should talk about it. He’s aware of this. I know who you are means James knows he lied
about Sirius. It means James knows who his parents are and what it means to be their son.
But even though all of this is true, James still kisses him like a man starved. He leans over
Regulus, a hand on the seatback for balance, and none of the ugly truth seems to make any
difference to him.

To James, Regulus isn’t the heir to a centuries old fortune. He isn’t Sirius’ obedient little
brother who rebelled too late, staining the family tree a second time. He’s simply Regulus,
who craves nothing more than for someone who sees him as he is. And somehow it was
James who managed to peel all of his layers back with care, not at all bothered by what he
found underneath.

“I need—” Regulus’ spine curves, head thrown back to give James better access to his throat.
“I need you to fuck me. Now. Here.”

“What—”

“You win, James. Just—Fuck. I will not let you out of this car until you make me come.”

He feels the slow spread of James’ grin against the hollow of his throat. “Remind me, love.
What did I win?”

“Don’t make me say it out loud. You already know.”

“Then you can get yourself off, and I’ll watch. That’s a win for me, too.”

Regulus moans when teeth sink into the tender underside of his jaw. “Don’t. Not there.
People will see.”

“Let them. What did I win?”

“I can’t say it. I—”

James pulls back to cage Regulus between his arms. Heat rolls off of him in waves. His eyes
are wild behind his glasses, lips shiny with spit and swollen. Each word is deliberate, low and
almost pained, when he asks again, “What did I win, Regulus?”

“I could sleep with every man on this stupid fucking rock of a planet, and still none of them
would replace you.” His words are barely a whisper, but they feel too loud in this confined
space. “I thought about you,” he adds, the admission falling past his lips before he can stop it.
“Whenever Connor would fuck me, I had to think of you to get off.”

James’ eyes darken, pupils exploding to the edges of his irises.

“I thought about you all of the time. I still think about you all of the time. I’ve come harder
from the sound of your voice over the phone than I have from actual sex. I’m losing my
mind, James,” he adds with a soft whine. “You said wait until Milan. We’re in Milan. But—”

Without warning, James hooks his index fingers through Regulus’ belt loops and tugs hard.
He yelps, yanked to the edge of his seat.
Before he can process what’s happened, James runs his hands over the crease of Regulus’
hips to the inside of his thighs. Fingers dig with an iron grip but push gently, urging him to
spread his knees, to give James space between his legs.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking the edge off.”

Oh. Oh.

Regulus’ head falls back against the seat, fingers flexing in the leather hard enough his nails
leave scratches. He exhales a shuddering breath when James nips at the hinge of his jaw, then
works quickly down his neck. A hand presses against where he strains against his trousers,
and his hips buck up of their own accord.

“Easy,” James murmurs, sitting back on his heels. He runs the tip of his finger around the
outline of Regulus’ cock from base to tip. There’s no pressure, it’s only a featherlight touch,
but Regulus moans deep in his chest. “I just know it’ll be pretty. Everything about you is.”

He scrambles for purchase on something, anything, when James undoes his belt. Pops the top
button on his trousers free. Tugs the zipper down, his grin stretching wider with every piece
exposed.

James is a man unwrapping his present with all the care of someone who doesn’t want to tear
the paper.

At least until he sees what’s underneath.

“Oh, you have got to be—” He drops his forehead against the inside of Regulus’ thigh,
muttering a string of incomprehensible Spanish that’s too fast for Regulus to make out.
Slowly, James raises his head. “This isn’t all of it, is it?”

Regulus shakes his head, and James surges forward to kiss him. It’s wild and messy, lacking
finesse. James plays with the thin elastic digging into Regulus’ skin. Runs delicate fingertips
over red lace.

It’s the G-string piece of the red set he’s teased since James came back from Singapore.
Regulus hadn’t expected for James to see it until tonight when they were in their hotel room,
but he can’t complain about this turn of events, either.

James pulls back, ignoring Regulus’ whine. It’s cut off abruptly by two fingers on his lips.

“Open for me.” James says it evenly, and Regulus does as he’s told. The man in front of him
looks hungrier than he’s ever been. Regulus’ eyelids flutter shut when James’ fingers slide
over his tongue. “Don’t talk. We’ve got about fifteen minutes before we’re there.”

“But—”

“Enough.”
Regulus isn’t sure he’s breathing. He swirls his tongue around the thick fingers in his mouth,
pleased when James makes a broken sound low in his throat.

At first, Regulus is polite about it. But the more his desire echoes through him, the filthier he
becomes. Until spit drips down the back of James’ hand, the corners of his own mouth. He’s
losing his mind with each passing second, heat coiling low between his legs.

He squirms under James’ other hand; it’s worked his trousers a little lower, exposing more
red lace. The fabric strains to hold his cock, heavy and already leaking from the tip. He
moans around James’ fingers when a calloused thumb brushes over the head where it peeks
out from elastic.

“You’re gorgeous with something in your mouth,” James murmurs, but he withdraws his
fingers anyway. Regulus licks after them, wonton and desperate. He should be ashamed of
how he begs, but he can’t muster it when he sees the dazed, wild look in James’ eyes. “I wish
I could just sit here and look at you, but I’m running out of time. And your cock really is as
pretty as I thought it’d be.”

Heat explodes through Regulus, and he melts into the seat. He couldn’t form a sentence if he
tried. Not when the sight of James kneeling between his thighs is a very real thing. Not when
James slips lower, tugging at elastic and lace to get it out of the way, to get to what he wants.

And definitely not when a soft, wet tongue licks a languid strip from the base of his cock to
the head and swirls around the tip.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” he breathes, squirming under the gentle ministrations until James slips a
hand under his shirt to spread it flat over his stomach. “James, I—”

“Stay still,” is all James says before he swallows Regulus to the root.

There’s cotton between his ears. He knows nothing but the feel of James’ mouth, hot and wet
and so fucking good. His throat tightens, constricting around the head of Regulus’ cock, and
Regulus shudders at the renewed burst of fire in his veins.

He should’ve known James would be good at this. That he would know exactly how to work
Regulus until all of his words turned to nonsense. Because James is messy about it in the best
fucking ways. He’s not here to finesse a gentle orgasm out of Regulus.

He’s here to take the edge off, to make Regulus calm and pliant.

Regulus swears a litany of curses when James’ fingers circle the base of his cock to hold him.
A wicked tongue runs through the slit to collect what leaks from the head. It’s a sight filthy
enough to undo him. There’s a pull starting behind his navel. A flame burns steady in his
core, tumbling quickly into something uncontrollable.

He moans loud and obscene when James swallows him down again. “I’m not—I’m gonna—”
God, he doesn’t want to. Not when James’ mouth feels this good. He wants to do this until
James’ jaw aches.
But he can’t hold on for much longer.

“James, I—”

Fingers in his thigh, digging—a warning. James looks up from underneath his lashes, glasses
slightly askew. He slows, and the edge Regulus was quickly approaching slips out of reach.

“What the—Please, James, let me—”

Another dig into his thigh, harder this time. There will be bruises later.

“Tell me which one,” Regulus manages, breathless. His hand has found its way into James’
curls. He holds James’ head down and fucks into his throat, desperate for more.

James pulls off of him with a breathless gasp. “Either, baby. I don’t care. Just—fuck, I need to
hear you say it when you’re like this.”

“Like what, daddy?”

He waits to ask until James’ mouth is full of him. Watches dark eyes roll back, lashes
fluttering, and feels the telltale burst of triumph that he’s brought James to heel. Made him
flushed and wild-eyed, his lips swollen and red.

It’s enough to throw a hook around Regulus’ navel and tug. To toss him right over the edge
with such force that he spills down James’ throat with a hoarse, strangled cry. Each swallow
tightens around him, leaving nothing behind.

He expects James to pull away, to let him go, but his tongue flicks languidly over the head of
Regulus’ cock. It circles the tip, and even this featherlight touch is too much.

“No, it’s—James, fuck, daddy, don’t—James, I—”

“S’Alright, love,” James murmurs. His voice is wrecked, his throat ruined. He pushes up on
his knees to kiss the edge of Regulus’ mouth. “It’s killing me, but we don’t have time for
more.”

Fuck. He forgot about the auction. About the limo. About the reason they’re even here. “Oh,
my God,” he manages. His hands shake while he tucks himself back into the G-string. He’s
slick with James’ spit and would give anything to clean himself up properly. “I’m a mess. You
are a mess.”

James laughs, sitting next to Regulus with a soft groan. He brushes off his knees, but his suit
is shockingly impeccable considering what he just did. Except for the swollen, bruised look
to his lips and the slight mess of his hair, he looks…incredible.

Bastard, Regulus thinks bitterly, adjusting his trousers to pull them back over his hips. He
hisses at the brush of his own hand. “This is gonna be torture.”

“Do you feel a little better?”

“Yes. Of course I do. I feel fucking incredible.” Regulus flinches when he zips his trousers.
“But it’s a little much right after.”

James laces his fingers together behind his head, the picture of nonchalance. “We only need
to give them three hours of our time. It should be over by ten.”

“And then I can show you the rest of the red set you’re clearly obsessed with.”

A muscle feathers in James’ jaw and his nostrils flare. “Don’t, love. I’m hard as a rock right
now. I need to think of every awful thing I can to bring it down.”

“Or I could—”

“We’ve got about five minutes before we need to get out, so no. I’ll wait. It was about you
anyway.”

Regulus softens, then says abruptly, “Think about the King naked and rolling around in a
bathtub full of mayonnaise.”

Immediately, James gags, his expression contorted into one of disgust and pain. “Blegh.
Yeah, that’s bloody awful. Keep ‘em comin’, baby. I can see the event hall.”

Regulus continues to volley awful images at James until they’re both laughing. He’s still a
puddle where he sits, all of his limbs useless, but the easy way James laughs with him warms
his insides in a different way.

This warmth finds all the extra places the other fire couldn’t touch.

“Alright, enough,” James finally says between bouts of laughter. “Any more and I might
never get it up again. C’mere, love.”

He lifts his arm for Regulus to settle against his side. In a few minutes, they’ll exit the limo
and Regulus will have to face whatever waits inside. He knows he can’t hide from it forever,
especially if he wants whatever this is that’s blooming between him and James.

“It’ll be fine. You will be fine,” James whispers against the crown of his head. “If people
recognize you, ignore them. You’re with me. I won’t let anything bad happen, alright? Just
trust me.”

Regulus nods, buries his face in James’ chest, and whispers, “I trust you.”

The charity auction is filled with new money. Regulus smells it on every person in the room
the moment they step inside. He’s tucked his hand in the crook of James’ elbow, determined
to remain as close as possible. As it is, he’s not sure he can stand on his own. His legs are
made of jelly and about as useful as a baby deer’s.
“I’m never letting you give me head before an event ever again,” he mutters out of the corner
of his mouth. “I can barely walk.”

“Just wait until—Oi! Ouch.”

Regulus has managed to pinch the inside of James’ bicep even through the layers of his suit.
“Do not finish that sentence.”

“That was a foul move for someone who can’t stand on his own two feet right now.”

“James,” he warns lowly, glaring up into eyes sparkling with mirth. “Cut it out.”

“Sorry, love. I know you’re nervous.” James bends to kiss his forehead, then straightens once
they near the formal entrance. A man with a clipboard checks names off a list spanning
pages. He smiles politely to each guest he lets pass into the ballroom.

It’s been repurposed and redecorated for the auction. There’s a stage at one end with a
microphone stand, and behind it is a fancy banner to name the event. Off to the side, a string
quartet plays along with a live pianist.

There are tables set in intervals throughout the ballroom. Gorgeous, small bouquet
centerpieces sit at the center of each one, and the tablecloths are a pristine, unmarred white.
Men and women dressed in black tie finery move around the ballroom to shake hands, kiss
cheeks, and say the required pleasantries.

It’s only been five years since he left, and the faces he grew up seeing at every gala, auction,
and ridiculous party are ones he’ll never forget. But there are no Carrows, Lestranges,
Greengrasses, or Gaunts here. No Malfoys or Flints or Notts or Macmillans.

To his relief, Regulus recognizes no one.

James fields handshake after handshake. He kisses cheeks and says his hellos. “This is
Regulus,” he adds, shifting to allow Regulus room to smile, to shake hands, to kiss cheeks.
He knows this dance better than any he does at the club. “He’s—”

“Gorgeous,” interrupts a woman whose last name he thinks might be Couvent. “This is a
stunning suit. Brioni?”

Regulus nods. “Their winter collection.”

“Oh, lovely. I’ll have to tell my husband to get himself fitted. His current suit could use a few
extra stitches, if you know what I mean.” She says this last bit behind her hand. Every finger
is adorned with something shiny and massive. New money.

“It was lovely to meet you, Mrs. Couvent,” he says, itching to drift back into James’ space
and onto his arm.

“Jaqie is fine, dear. Please. There’s no need to be formal.”

Oh, yes. Very new money.

The sharks haven’t sunk their teeth into her most vulnerable parts yet. Her husband is
probably a developer. Real estate, maybe. Software is possible, too. Regardless, it made them
millions overnight. It put them here amidst the upper echelon with all of their rough edges
still intact.

Regulus should be more careful. The way he stands, the way he speaks, the way he can look
down his nose at people taller than him—this is old money. Women like Jaqie Couvent won’t
be able to notice the difference, but anyone whose edges have been sanded away will know
he isn’t cut from their cloth.

Suddenly, an arm loops around his middle. It tugs him away from Mrs. Couvent, who waves
with a bright, open smile.

“Software,” James whispers in his ear as they walk towards the bar. “Her husband’s company
developed a revolutionary program that can predict stock market highs and lows with
terrifying accuracy. It made them millionaires overnight. They might be billionaires within
the year.”

Called it, Regulus thinks while James orders a glass of whisky for himself and a glass of
white wine for Regulus. He’s already had two flutes of champagne, but it hasn’t dulled his
nerves nearly enough. “She’s nice.”

“You have more to say than that.” James leans on the bar and looks at him sidelong. “Go on,
love. Spit it out.”

“She’s new money,” he says under his breath. “I can smell it on her. She wears her wealth
like extravagance, and she’s too friendly. She’s genuinely nice.”

“I’m genuinely nice.”

“Not to all of them. There’s a difference. You understand that every handshake is a business
transaction. Every conversation is a connection to another connection to another—a web of
them. Shake even one thread the wrong way, and the entire thing could fall to pieces.”

James’ brows arch to his hairline. “Mrs. Couvent and her husband?”

“They’ll learn.”

“That’s a bit cutthroat.”

“I grew up in these spaces, James. I know what they are.”

James smiles at the bartender who’s just set their drinks on the counter. “Here,” he says,
passing Regulus a glass of white wine. “Your parents aren’t supposed to be on the guest list. I
checked before I asked you to come with me, and I confirmed it a few minutes ago. I can’t
promise they won’t show, but they shouldn’t.”

Regulus’ shoulders slump forward a fraction. “I’m sorry I’m so tense,” he says quietly,
spinning the wine glass stem between his fingers. “It’s just… It’s been a while. I don’t like
who I am at these events.”
“That’s alright. I don’t like myself much at these events, either.” James holds out his elbow
for Regulus to take it once more. “But it’s only a few hours, and then you’ll have me all to
yourself. How does that sound?”

“Fucking fantastic.” Regulus leans his cheek on James’ shoulder, unconcerned with the
curious eyes that follow them. No one has recognized him so far. They’ve talked to countless
businessmen and high society women, but if any have suspected, they haven’t dared to ask.

They flit from group to group. James keeps a hand on his lower back, a warm and grounding
presence. He doesn’t drift too far away.

Regulus sips his wine, content to engage in small conversations when prompted. He’s always
preferred to watch, to linger on the outskirts. But he’s an interesting face on the arm of a man
he’s come to realize was once considered the most eligible bachelor in the room.

It means questions—and lots of them—but he fields them with ease. As the hour slips by, he
finds himself smiling a little more, a little easier. He even laughs with the rest when yet
another old man tells yet another terrible joke.

For the first time since they stepped foot in the ballroom, Regulus allows himself a proper
breath.

James senses the shift. He turns away from his conversation, ducks his head, and sets his lips
on Regulus’ ear. “You alright, love? Feeling any better?”

“Yeah. I’m… I’m good. I think I’m alright.”

“Good. The auction will start in about fifteen minutes, and then we’ll—”

“Regulus? Est-ce bien toi?”

The world comes to an abrupt, terrible halt, and the floor falls away beneath his feet. The
ballroom, with all of its bright conversations and soft music, fades to nothing. Even his vision
narrows, blackening at the edges.

No.

No.

He finally took his first breath. He only just allowed himself a chance to breathe.

No, no—

“No,” he whispers, every muscle in his body rigid.

“Baby?” asks James. “What’s wrong?” He’s so close, his breath warm on Regulus’ skin, but
he’s still so far away. “Are you—”

“Regulus, regarde-moi. Ne fais pas semblant d’ignorer ta mère.”

 Not even the warm press of James’ hand or the concern on his beautiful face can save
Regulus from this. He shouldn’t have come. He should’ve told James no when he had the
chance.

Should’ve said, I can’t go to Milan, because I know what will happen when I swim with
sharks again. I’ve been bleeding since I was born, and they will smell my blood in the water.

James turns to look over his shoulder. His arm loops around Regulus’ waist to pull him into a
protective embrace. The last of his wine almost sloshes over the rim and ruins James’ lovely
Brioni jacket. A shame, considering it cost so damn much. He should apologize, should say
—

“Good evening.” To the rest of the world, James’ tone is nothing short of professional. But to
Regulus, it’s all wrong. Hollow. Frigid. Devoid of its gentle warmth and kindness.

He hears their voices but not their words. A shiver racks his frame, and James’ arm tightens
around him. This is the voice that still lives in his nightmares. It’s the reason he almost never
sleeps. It shouldn’t be this close to James. Shouldn’t mix with his low, lovely timber this way.

Regulus would rather die than pull away from James, but there’s no avoiding this.

He takes a deep, steadying breath and makes himself look—at his eyes, and his mouth, and
his cheekbones. At his own sharp lines and his own curly hair, black as pitch.

Bile riles in his throat. It burns his insides.

No, no, no, no, no, no no no no no anything but this please anything but her here but her in
this room but her so close to James so close to me anything but her anything but this anything
anything anything—

“Hello, Maman,” he finally says.

Walburga Black’s answering smile is a knife.

Chapter End Notes

much love to my lovely french wife evyl for her french translation help in this one <3
and to alex, as always, for his spanish help (and a little bit of yaz, too lol)

i have so many feelings about them becoming more comfortable around one another, but

walburga is here! kill her with fire i told you there was angst in milan
forgot to mention it, then hey, look! there's angst in milan!
👀
especially regulus. he's been so guarded, but he's finally softening :( but hey, look!
...and if i

anyway, thank you for reading and for all of your lovely comments 🖤 it means so much
to me. i've really fallen in love with these two and their messy little dynamic, and i'm so
excited for what's to come! see you in the next one <3
 a little context if you care to listen
Chapter Summary

milan, part two

Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Regulus has always found how beautiful his mother is to be a viciously unfair truth.

Walburga Black is of average height and narrow build, but walks with her chin held high, her
shoulders back, and a grace unmatched. It ensures she becomes the most formidable presence
in the room the moment she’s entered it. Her shoes are, as always, pristinely shined and black
in color, with red soles and a heel that comes to a dangerous point. Her gown is a simple
black cocktail dress—nothing spectacular at first glance, but Regulus knows it’s custom-
made designer that cost a bloody fortune.

Five years have passed since he last saw either of his parents in the flesh. He wishes, if their
reunion had to be tonight, that it had been his father and not his mother who found him.

Looking at his mother is like looking at his own reflection in a dream. Their eyes are the
same slate-gray color, but hers are lifeless, cold, and shrewd. The set of their mouths is the
same, their lips full and marked by identical cupid’s bows, but Regulus’ knows the shape of a
true smile. Their noses, their cheekbones, the harsh lines of their bone structure, their height
and build and even their hair—Regulus is a near perfect copy-paste.

It’s a cruel truth he reluctantly accepts when he sees his mother on the front cover of Vogue or
featured in Forbes, but it’s like swallowing glass when she stands only an arm’s length away.

“It’s been a long, long time, Regulus.” Without French to soften her tone and round out her
vowels, her voice is sharp and grating. Walburga tilts her head. She doesn’t bother to hide
how she catalogs Regulus leaning into James’ chest, or how James’ arm remains around his
waist to hold him close. “You’ve made a new friend.”

He should speak. Should say more than Hello, Maman. Should tell her to get away from him
and forget she ever had a second son. Instead, panic lodges itself firmly in his throat. The
room is too hot, his chest too tight. His tongue sits heavy behind his teeth.

Regulus hates himself for his uselessness more now than he ever has.

“Walburga Black.” She holds out one slender hand for James to shake. Her fingers are bereft
of gaudy jewelry, and her wrists are bare. All of her bones are fine and delicate as a bird’s.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Potter. I’m sure you know my husband—”
“I know who you are.”

Regulus sucks in a sharp breath. There isn’t an ounce of warmth in James’ voice. Heat
emanates from his body as it always does, but his tone is frigid. Detached. Clipped. Neutral
professionalism has shifted to a much darker thing. He doesn’t acknowledge Walburga’s
outstretched hand.

“Wonderful,” she replies with false cheer. She drops her hand back to her side. “I find
introductions dreadfully boring.”

James’ fingers twitch where they curve around Regulus’ waist. He keeps a white-knuckled
grip on the tumbler of unfinished whisky in his other hand. “Can I ask what it is that you
want?”

“To say hello to the man of the hour. I’ve heard quite a few interesting things about you this
evening, Mr. Potter. It seems you’ve ruffled plenty of pretty feathers with your choice of…”
Her gaze cuts to Regulus, mouth thinning to a sharp line.

“I’m a busy man, Mrs. Black. I don’t have time to discuss tabloid gossip.”

Don’t push her James don’t push her please don’t push her. But Regulus’ tongue is still too
thick in his mouth to voice the warning. He clutches his wine glass like a lifeline, afraid he’ll
snap the delicate stem.

“Of course, of course.” It’s cordial, even polite, but Regulus marks the exact second her
pleasantries slip. “But you apparently have plenty of time to fuck my son.”

“Maman!” Regulus erupts, his panic destroyed by his outrage. He disentangles himself from
James and sets his wine glass on a nearby table, afraid he might break it on purpose just to
use the stem as a weapon.

“Oh, good. So you do remember how to speak for yourself.”

“You’re out of line,” he hisses between his teeth, taking a step towards her. James reaches for
him, their fingers brushing, but Regulus yanks his hand away. His rage threatens to bubble
over. He can already feel it shaping and sharpening his words.

This—more than his eyes or his hair or his build or his face—is his mother.

“I need to speak with you,” Walburga says airily, crossing her arms over her chest. “Alone.”

James scoffs indignantly. “No, you do—”

“And who are you, Mr. Potter? His keeper? For fuck’s sake.” Her eyes narrow, glaring over
Regulus’ shoulder. “He’s my son. Put your cock in him all you’d like, but he’s a part of our
—”

“Maman, enough,” Regulus seethes, stepping closer. His tone dips low, and he prays none of
the people nearby have overheard any of this. His skin itches under his suit; he wishes he
could peel all of it off. Become someone else and slip away. But first—this. “You want to
talk? Fine. Let’s talk. I’m sure we both have plenty to say.”

“Regulus,” James urges, reaching for him again, “you don’t—”

“James, stop. I’m fine.” He doesn’t mean for it to sound as harsh as it does. James doesn’t
flinch, but his expression hardens in the second before it smooths. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m
so, so sorry. Regulus has spent five years working to be better, to be himself and not this, but
apparently a mere five minutes around his mother is enough to undo it all.

Walburga’s smile twists, ugly and cruel. She dips her chin to James. “Lovely to meet you, Mr.
Potter.”

“I can’t say the same.” A muscle works in James’ jaw. He looks from Regulus to Walburga
and back again, the whisky tumbler a potential casualty if his grip tightens any further.
“Alright,” he finally relents, though it clearly pains him to say it. “I’ll wait by the bar.”

This is a terrible idea. The absolute definition of it. His mother is unpredictable at the best of
times—clearly. There’s no telling what it is she wants to discuss, though Regulus would
hazard a guess it’s exactly what he expects: come home. But it could also be nothing. His
mother’s propensity for playing games, for maintaining control over every piece on the
board, is unmatched.

He had to learn it from somewhere, didn’t he?

“What do you want?” he asks once they’ve slipped into the shadows. Alcoves line the walls
of the ballroom, tucked away behind grand, ornately decorated columns. It keeps them far
from prying eyes and well-trained ears, but if he shifts a little left and squints, he can make
out James on the other side of the room by the bar.

“Have you sorted out your little problem?”

“What little problem?”

Walburga tapes the side of her nose, one perfect brow arched, and Regulus reels back as
though she struck him.

“How—How did you know about that?”

“Oh, Regulus.” She lays a hand on his bicep. Her touch is light but firm; he represses a
shudder. It’s what she’s looking for—chinks in his armor, vulnerable places where her knife
will fit. “You have the illusion of freedom. But we’ve been keeping an eye on you since you
ran off.”

Regulus’ stomach plummets right through pristine marble floors. He knew. Some part of him
always did. His parents were furious when Sirius left, but he had planned for it. Learned how
to cover his tracks. I’ll come back for you, Reggie. Once I’m safe and settled. Sirius had
intended to change his name, to slip out of existence entirely. To grow out his hair, change his
style, blend.
“And Sirius?” Regulus asks through gritted teeth. It’s difficult to keep himself steady with his
mother’s grip on his bicep, but if he moves even an inch, she’ll consider it a victory. “Do you
also keep tabs on your most beloved eldest son?”

Walburga tilts her head. The corners of her mouth turn down, but Regulus can’t read her. It’s
been too long since he last spoke to his mother; she’s at once familiar and a complete
stranger. “Your brother is… He’s still missing. We haven’t found him. He did a much better
job than you did at disappearing.”

As usual. Was there ever a point in running at all?

“Then again,” his mother continues, finally dropping her hand, “your brother doesn’t put
himself on the arm of a man who was first on Forbes’ Thirty Under Thirty list. Even if we
hadn’t kept an eye on you these last five years, showing up tonight with Mr. Potter was as
good as serving yourself up to us on a silver platter.”

Regulus’ throat closes, and there’s a hot prickle behind his eyes. He tried so hard to stay
away, to keep himself hidden. Maybe he should’ve changed his name, but he was only
eighteen when he ran. He had no one to help him, no one to show him how it should be done.
He didn’t have his big brother.

Then he went and made the worst choice—because he thought he was safe. After five years
of silence, of course he thought he could have something good. Somewhere out there, Sirius
has freedom. Someone who loves him. And surely he’s made friends these last ten years. He
probably has a great degree, a fantastic job. Always so charismatic and gentle and kind. The
brightest in a room, the first to be noticed.

Why couldn’t Regulus have it all, too?

Why has it always been only Sirius—even now?

“How much do you know?” he asks, the weight of defeat heavy on his shoulders.

“Enough,” Walburga replies with a wave of her hand. “But it’s easily forgiven. Do you know
how many of our friends have children who went through similar phases? Really, Regulus.
All we care about is that you don’t need help anymore.”

He wants to scream. He wants to curl his hand into a fist and drive it through the column to
his left. Who cares that it will shatter every knuckle? At least he’ll feel something other than
what he does now.

Mad as it is, he truly believed he’d succeeded. He thought that if his parents knew where he
was, they would come knocking on his door, or appear in one of his lecture halls, or even
walk into the club where he works. But months turned to years without a word, and he
deluded himself into believing their silence wasn’t just another game.

Five whole years of his life—and as fucked up and messy as they’ve been, they were his.
But he’s been an unwitting actor in a play he didn’t realize he had a part in. Like some
terribly twisted version of The Truman Show, where his life is real, his friends are real, he is
real—but he’s still just as watched, monitored, and manipulated as Truman Burbank.

He’s not sure if he wants to laugh, scream, cry, or do some awful version of all three.

“Much as I find your proclivity for men distasteful,” Walburga continues, drawing him back
to the ballroom, “I will admit Mr. Potter is an advantageous match. He’s incredibly wealthy,
and his company is doing well. His stocks are—”

“Stay away from him, Maman. Stay the fuck away.” Regulus’ rage bubbles to the surface
again, threatening to spill over. “He has nothing to do with our fucked up family. Leave him
out.”

“You brought him into the fold, so I’m not sure why you’re upset with me.”

“Because he’s mine, not another toy for you and Papa to play with. I’m not a part of your
family anymore.”

Walburga rolls her eyes, exasperated. “Your father and I told you when you left that there’s
nowhere you can run and nowhere we won’t find you. So come home, Regulus. Quit
pretending you aren’t a proper Black. It might take some convincing on your father’s side,
but we’ll even welcome Mr. Potter with open arms if that’s what it takes.”

“Why? So you can chew him up and spit him out the way you do with all the rest?” Regulus
searches his mother’s eyes. His eyes. God, he fucking hates them. “I won’t allow that to
happen, and I’m not going home.”

“We’re your family, Regulus.”

“No, you’re not. Not anymore. How many times do I have to say it? I made a new one after I
left.”

“Oh, please,” Walburga scoffs. “Your little band of misfits? That isn’t where you belong.
You’re an heir, Regulus. To an empire. To a fortune you can’t even comprehend. I promise
none of this will matter—Mr. Potter will not matter—when you inherit all of it.”

He doesn’t want it—he’s never wanted it—but just as he’s about to tell her all of this and then
some, it dawns on him. It’s in the agitated set of her shoulders, the slight furrow in her brow.
She would never admit to it, but in this moment, Walburga Black is groveling.

“You’re scared, aren’t you?” Regulus whispers, his shock palpable. “You’re terrified I’ll
bring it all down.” Then his grin spreads, as slow and cruel as hers. “Do you lie awake at
night wondering when I’ll do it? If I’ll do it? Do you wonder why I haven’t?”

“You know nothing.” She practically spits the words—and Regulus knows, for the first time
in his life, that he’s won.

“Is that why you’re begging for me instead of searching for Sirius? You’ll really do anything,
won’t you? You hate that I’m gay, but you’ll let James into the family? Oh, this is rich. Is it
because I know all about Papa and his—” He gasps at the sudden sting in his jaw. His
mother’s fingers, long and vicious and digging, grip the sides of his face.

“Whatever you think you know, you don’t. You and Sirius have always been so full of
yourselves. Convinced you know it all.” And this is the fissure in her façade. The moment of
truth when all of her fine porcelain cracks to expose the nastiness underneath. “And you
know better than to open your mouth. It’ll destroy your fortune, too.”

Regulus cackles despite the twinge in his jaw. “I make my own money, Maman. I don’t need
yours.”

“Fucking James Potter isn’t a job. Showing men your body isn’t work.”

“The second one is my job. But the first one? That’s just for fun.” He grins as much as he can
manage with the pressure of her fingers digging into his cheeks. Cold fire burns in her eyes,
and her nostrils flare. But she wouldn’t dare strike him here.

“Enough. Enough,” she seethes, all but hissing like a cornered stray. “You will come home,
Regulus. And you will keep your mouth shut.”

Regulus has never in all his twenty-three years of life felt as giddy and powerful as he does
right now. “Should I tell you how James gives it to me?” he asks sweetly, grinning so wide
her nails will leave little crescents in his cheeks. “It really is an advantageous match, Maman.
See, he’s got the biggest cock I’ve ever taken, and he fucks me hard and fast with it, and—”

The back of her hand connects with his cheek, and a sharp crack echoes off the walls. He
shouldn’t have underestimated her, but it’s been too long. There’s a slight sting under his eye;
she’s broken skin. Not much, but enough that when he reaches up to touch his burning cheek,
a narrow line of blood shines on his fingertip.

For one bitter, terrible moment, he thinks, Sirius would be proud of me.

“Leave,” Walburga snaps, her eyes burning brighter than before. “Get out, or I’ll have
security haul you out in front of everyone in this room.”

She wouldn’t dare—it would disgrace the entire family if he wound up on the front page of a
tabloid—but he doesn’t want to stay. He’s suddenly and inexplicably exhausted. All the fight
left with her slap across his cheek, and every bone in his body aches. He wants out of this
ballroom as much as she wants him gone.

He doesn’t bother with a goodbye. He slips out of the alcove without a second glance.
Walburga’s furious gaze bores holes into the space between his shoulder blades, but he’s
already mapped a path to the exit. He’ll have to walk through a room full of society’s elite
with a thin line of blood on his cheek, but fuck it.

Fuck all of it.

Without really thinking, he grabs a bottle of unopened champagne from one of the buckets on
a table he passes. Someone shouts after him, probably panicked waitstaff, but he doesn’t hear
them. The bottle is cold against his palm. He can already taste the sweetness of it on his
tongue, the buzz that’ll hit once he’s had enough.

It’s a large bottle, meant to fill countless glasses before it’s tossed, but that’s alright. He’s
drunk himself into deeper bottles before. This one is exactly what he needs, and if he reaches
the bottom then maybe, just maybe, he can forget. Be someone else. Go somewhere else.
Lose a little bit of himself and—

“Regulus!”

He flinches, shouldering past a woman and her husband who both scuttle away from him.

Don’t follow me. Just let me go.

“Regulus, where are—? Excuse me. I’m so sorry. Sorry, sorry. Excuse me, thank you.
Regulus!”

He doesn’t look back to see if James manages to break through the crowd. A few people
shoot him second glances, but he’s gone before they can register what it is they’re seeing. He
hears it again—Regulus, wait!—but there’s cold air on his skin, the whole of Milan at his
feet.

With a steadying breath, he runs down the steps two at a time to the street, takes a sharp left
to go God only knows where, and puts the auction, his wicked witch of a mother, and James
Potter behind him.

“Stupid—fucking—machine,” Regulus seethes, each word punctuated by a kick to the closed

metal shutter of a tobacco shop.

It’s damaging his new Oxfords, but he’s too pissed off to care. This isn’t an area of Milan that
sees enough tourists, and every place selling tobacco within walking distance of the auction
closed hours ago. His only hope is this vending machine tucked behind a metal shutter
covered in graffiti, with exact cut outs for access.

But he isn’t Italian. He doesn’t have the card he needs to prove he’s of age, and the machine
refuses to dispense him a pack of cigarettes no matter how many times he furiously presses
buttons.

“Fucking useless.”

He glares at the offending machine, then crouches down beside it, elbows on his knees and
head in his hands. He’s a little dizzy, but not nearly close enough to where he needs to be to
forget tonight’s events. The champagne bottle sits, already opened and a quarter finished,
between his feet.
But the edge just won’t leave. He can still hear his mother’s taunting voice, feel the grip of
her fingers on his jaw. He’s almost positive he managed to wipe the blood off of his cheek
with his jacket sleeve. At the very least, his fingertips no longer come away marred by a thin
line of crimson.

His phone buzzed in his pocket for about thirty minutes before it stopped. He didn’t even
have to look to know it was James. It only served to worsen the itch under his skin, and that
was about the time Regulus decided he needs a cigarette. It’s been ages since he last smoked,
but desperate times.

“Ou! Tutto a posto?”

Regulus looks up to find a man staring down at him. He’s older. Mid-forties and handsome,
with salt and pepper hair and a kind set to his mouth and eyes. He watches Regulus with
blatant concern.

“Vuoi comprare le sigarette?”

“I’m sorry,” Regulus says, “but I don’t speak Italian.”

“Oh. That’s alright.” The man grins, warm and inviting. His accent is thick, but his words
flow easily. He jerks his chin at the machine. “I asked if you are buying cigarettes. Are you
English?”

“I am, yeah.”

The man grins crookedly. “Ah. This makes sense. The machine will not work for you.”

He doesn’t mean to, but Regulus scowls. “Worked that much out for myself, thanks.”

“Here. I can help. Do you have money?”

Regulus regards the man warily. “Why?”

“I have a—a, ah, come si chiama la tessera sanitaria?” He squints up at the dark evening sky,
then adds in a rush, “Aha! The health insurance card. That is what you need.”

“Can you even do that? Is it even legal?” Regulus straightens, careful not to knock over the
bottle of champagne.

The man waves a dismissive hand. His grin is full, a little mischievous, but the sight of it
doesn’t make Regulus’ gut twist. There’s a gold band on the man’s left ring finger, and he
seems entirely uninterested in Regulus—except to take pity on him, it seems.

“What would you like? Choose something.”

Regulus scans the vending machine’s selection. “Those,” he says, pointing to a carton of
white and gold with red and black lettering. At the sight of them, he’s thirteen and sitting on a
grassy knoll with his shoulder pressed against Sirius’. Twenty cigarettes are lined up neat and
tidy on the ground in front of them.
You can only get these in Italy, Reggie. They’re famous. Used to put ‘em in all the Italian
movies.

Regulus had wheezed after his first lungful of smoke but still managed to protest, I don’t care
if they’re famous. They’re vile!

You’ll get used to them. Seriously, these are the best. Even says it in the name. It means ‘best
crop.’

Are they your favorite?

They’re better than the British ones, so yeah, I think so.

You’re just saying that because some hot Italian guy bought them for you.

Sirius’ grin had been brighter than the midafternoon sun. Maybe, yeah. So don’t waste them.

“Here you are.” The man holds out the little carton to Regulus, his smile still warm. “Do you
need a lighter?”

“Yeah, actually. Can I buy one from the machine?”

The man laughs, shaking his head. “No. But here, you can have this one. I always carry an
extra.”

Regulus gapes at the stranger, sputtering, “No, that’s alright. Really, I promise. I’m fine,” but
the man shoves a little metal lighter into his palm anyway.

“I think maybe you need this more than me, yes?” He folds Regulus’ fingers over the cool
metal piece.

“Thank you. You really didn’t have to… Thank you,” Regulus repeats. “I appreciate it.”

The man pats his shoulder, tucks a carton of his own cigarettes away in his pocket, then steps
back towards the road. “I hope your evening improves. Those are good cigarettes and that is
good champagne, but I think wine is always better. Ciao.”

Regulus stares stupidly after the man long after he disappears around a bend.

His mind is blank except for thoughts of that day in the grass, when he and Sirius smoked
five cigarettes each before Regulus lamented he was too lightheaded to smoke more. They
tucked the remaining cigarettes away in their little white and gold packs, and agreed to
siphon the rest rather than chain smoke them all.

We’ll save them for really bad days, Sirius had said, tucking the carton under his mattress
when they got home.

Between the two of them, they’d finished the rest of the pack in less than a week.
Regulus sets the filter between his teeth and cups his hand around the end, pleased when the
lighter comes to life immediately. The first inhale makes him cough, his lungs furious, but
after a few minutes, it’s as easy as breathing again. The taste isn’t exactly as he remembers it,
but then again, it’s been ten years.

With a sigh, he snatches the champagne bottle off the ground, tucks the carton and lighter
inside his jacket, and starts walking. The cigarette helps with the jittery bounce of nerves
under his skin, but no matter how much he drinks, all he hears is there’s nowhere you can
run, and there’s nowhere we won’t find you.

He was insane to ever think he’d be free of them.

Ignoring the notifications piled up from James, he unlocks his phone and dials.

Evan answers on the second ring. “Reggie? You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m—” Regulus’ shoulders hunch forward against a cold breeze. There’s no point in
lying to his best friends. They’ll figure it out. “No, actually,” he admits. “I’m pretty fucking
far from alright.”

“Hold on. Barty! Reg is on the phone. Something happened.” There’s the clink of dishes in
the sink, then Barty’s voice grumbling that he’ll go to Milan right now and beat the shit out
of James Potter if I fuckin’ have to, before Evan asks, “What’s wrong? Is it James?”

“No. It’s not… No.”

“Gotta give us more than that, babe,” Barty says, closer now. “There are no trains until
morning, but I can probably catch a flight.”

Regulus looses a shaky laugh. His cigarette has almost burned down to the filter, but he
doesn’t want to waste the little bit that’s left. He takes a long drag to settle his nerves again.

“Oh, you’re smoking. That’s not a good sign. That’s—” Evan makes a quiet noise. “That’s
family-level bad shit. Who was there?”

“My mother. Maybe my father too, but I didn’t see him. Only her.”

“Oh, not Walbitch,” Barty seethes. “Has no one put a hit out on her yet? I’m shocked. All of
that money, and what is it good for? The people I’d take out if I—”

Evan cuts him off with a terse, “Barty. Not right now.”

“Right. Yeah. Sorry, Reg. What did she say?”

“She told me she wants me to come home. Among other things.” There’s a small park up
ahead with deserted benches. He makes a beeline for it, stubbing his cigarette out on a metal
trash can. “She asked if I’m over my little ‘problem.’ Apparently my parents have been
keeping an eye on me for a while.”

“Fuck,” Barty says under his breath.

Regulus imagines the two of them huddled together at the bar looking in on their kitchen,
each one sat on a stool with their knees bumping together. Barty will bounce his so violently
Evan will have to lay a firm hand on it to still him. Easy gestures. Familiar.

There was never adequate room for Regulus in their equation. Not in the way there was
always room for the two of them. They loved him, but they weren’t in love with him. The
difference is astounding when you know what it looks and feels like.

But right now, lost in the middle of an unfamiliar city with nothing but cigarettes and
champagne, he’d give anything to fit between them somehow. Maybe familiarity is what he
needs to feel settled again. Like he belongs somewhere and is still wanted despite the mess of
it all.

“Where’s your head at, Reggie?” asks Evan gently. “If you need to come home…”

“No, I’m alright. Well, not really. But I’ll be alright. Eventually.” Regulus sits on a bench
slightly off to the side of a wide gravel lane. It cuts through the park, bridging two narrow
streets. There’s a grassy area surrounded by trees in front of him. It’s dark, lit by nothing but
the moon overhead. “I left James at the auction.”

“Shit. Did he say something to you?”

“No, I ran out. He shouted after me, but I don’t think he was able to follow me. I haven’t seen
him. He’s called and texted a bunch of times, but…” Regulus’ fingers tighten around the
edges of his phone. It hasn’t buzzed in a while. “Anyway, I think I’ll probably just hang out
here and wait until morning. Then I’ll catch a flight home or something.”

The silence on the other end is unbelievably loud.

“What?” He sets the champagne bottle between his feet and grabs for the pack of cigarettes in
his jacket. “Say it. Spit it out.”

“Before I give him any benefit he doesn’t deserve—did James do something wrong?”

Regulus pauses with an unlit cigarette between his teeth. “Huh?”

“James,” Evan says again, slower this time. “Did he do anything wrong?”

“No. I just don’t want to involve him in all of this shit. He doesn’t need the drama that comes
with my family. With me.”

“But he knows who you are now, right?”

“He’s known, apparently. He told me before the auction.” Regulus flinches at the memory of
their conversation in the limo, of James taking him apart with tongue and teeth. He scrambles
for the little silver lighter.

January in Milan is cold, and his fingers aren’t having it. Up until now, he’s been more or less
numb to the chill. But he’s no longer walking. He’s sat in an empty park with a cold bottle of
champagne for company. His nose is stiff, and there’s a slight ache in his left ear. Will he
even be able to stay here until morning?

“So he knows…and he doesn’t care?” asks Barty, speaking as slow as Evan.

“If you think I’m obtuse, just fucking say it,” Regulus snaps, hackles raised. His fury still
simmers under the surface. “I didn’t call you two for—”

“Don’t walk out on him.”

Regulus blinks into the darkness several times. “Huh?”

“Whatever really stupid thing you’re about to do—don’t do it,” Evan clarifies for Barty, his
tone urgent and rushed. “Reg, you’ve been so happy. Every time you talk about him you light
up like a fucking Christmas tree. And the way he looks at you… If he’d done something
really fucked up tonight, we would be the first ones to tell you to come home—”

“Fuck yeah, we would,” adds Barty.

“—but don’t push him out. He’s been really, really good for you. And weren’t you just saying
the other day that you want to see where this goes? I get that your mum showing up makes
you want to tuck tail and run as far away as you can, but maybe just…”

“Run into one hundred ninety centimeters of delicious Latino man instead of back home to
dreary old London?” finishes Barty, snickering when Evan shushes him. “I’m serious! Reg,
we love you, but you do this. You run from everything when you’re scared. And that’s fine—
sometimes. But even I think you’ll be making a big mistake if you do it this time.”

Regulus exhales smoke and watches it curl. From where he sits, if he tilts his head just right,
it wraps around the moon. “You know, if I’d wanted a voice of reason then I would’ve called
Lily.”

“She just left an hour ago, so I think we’re only being this reasonable because she rubbed off
on us,” Evan muses. “But you know she’d tell you the same thing we are. Talk to James. He’s
got nice, strong shoulders. I’m sure he can handle carrying around a little extra baggage if it’s
yours.”

“Fuck off,” Regulus mutters, smiling around the cigarette despite himself. “What should I tell
him? All of it?”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” says Barty. “And if he forces you to share shit you
don’t want to, then you come running home to dreary old London. Or you find yourself a nice
Italian man for the evening. Whichever you prefer.”

Regulus snorts. “Thanks for the idea.”

“Idiot. Don’t say that,” Evan hisses under his breath to Barty. “Reg, talk to James first.
Please? No Italian men. Not yet.”
“Not yet,” he echoes. “I promise. But I need to text James back first. I don’t even know
where I am.”

“Send us your location, yeah?” Barty sounds earnest, his worry seeping through his usual
lighthearted quips. “Just in case. You’re in a city you don’t know.”

“Yeah, I will. Talk to you later?”

Evan and Barty each give him a parting love you, Reggie before they’re gone and he’s alone
again. He sends them his location before he forgets, then does the absolute last thing he wants
to do—checks his missed calls and unread texts.

11 Missed Calls—and all of them are from James. There are even more unread messages.

James
What happened?
Reg? Are you alright?
Fuck baby I’m so sorry
I really didn’t know they would be here
I wouldn’t have brought you if I’d known
Not that I didn’t WANT to bring you because I did!!!
But I want to protect you more than I wanted to come here.
I don’t blame you if you’re furious with me right now
I’m sorry I called so much
And that I’m texting so much
Just please let me know if you’re alright
Or if you need me to send someone to come get you
I can get a different room. A whole different hotel. It’s fine!
Just please please please let me know you’re okay.

But it’s not until the last few messages that Regulus’ mouth falls open and his heart lurches
out of his chest.

James
Right. So. I did something very very VERY stupid.
It was worth it though. I swear.
Please don’t be mad but…
Well I sorta punched your dad.

James answers on the first ring.

“Oh, thank—”

“You did what?!” Regulus’ voice comes out high-pitched and thin. “James, please don’t tell
me you did what you said.”

“Punched your dad? Yeah, I might’ve.” James sounds a bit sheepish but not at all apologetic.
“He won’t come after me, though. He threw the first punch. Mine just connected with his
jaw.”

Regulus runs a hand down his face, laughing under his breath. “What the fuck happened after
I left?”

“I went up to your mum and asked what she said to make you run off, but then your dad came
out of nowhere and started making a scene. We were off to the side so I don’t think he
thought people would notice. But he’s a loud guy, you know? So people definitely noticed.
But it was too late by then. I was in his face, he was in my face, and then he threw a punch.
And missed, by the way.”

“My dad doesn’t punch people for no reason.”

James scoffs. “Who said I didn’t give him a reason?”

“What did you say to him?”

“Well, I called him lots of very colorful and nasty names that I’m not proud of. And then he
insulted you, so I called him even more nasty names. And then I might have decided to insult
your mother, which I’m also not proud of and will be scolded by my mum for, but that’s what
got him to throw the first punch.”

“And then you punched my dad.”

“And then I punched your dad.”

Regulus shakes his head, still reeling. “God, you’re an idiot. That’ll be all over TMZ by the
morning.”

“I sure as hell hope so. That was a good fucking punch.” James hisses, then adds, “Hurt my
hand, though. Your dad is built like a wall.”

“Yeah. Yeah, he is… Hold on.”

Regulus pulls the phone away from his ear, still shaking his head. His insides are warm,
though he’s not sure if it’s from the champagne he guzzled while reading James’ messages or
if it’s from the sound of James’ voice. Regardless, Regulus sends his location, then asks
softly, “Come find me?”

“Already on my way.”

He smokes another cigarette while he waits, mind spinning from the nicotine and his own
errant thoughts. He doesn’t know if he has the courage to tell James everything, but he’s also
not sure there’s a benefit in hiding it anymore. Evan and Barty were right—he does want to
see where this thing between him and James goes.

But he can’t do that if he’s still keeping secrets.

Regulus watches tendrils of smoke curl into the air from the end of his cigarette. He’s
hunched against the cold with his elbows on his knees, but he looks up at the sound of
approaching footsteps.

James stops a few paces away, suit jacket hooked around his finger and thrown over his
shoulder. He tucks his phone in the front pocket of his trousers and shifts his weight from
foot to foot. “Hi,” he says quietly, concern written in every line of his face. “Are you…?”

“I’m okay.” Regulus flicks ash off the end of his cigarette. He feels pinned under the weight
of James’ stare. “How’s your hand?”

“Oh, it’s fine. Nothing’s broken. Pa taught me how to punch right.”

The corner of Regulus’ mouth twitches. “I’m sorry I ran out.”

“It’s okay. I was just worried about something happening to you. But I…” James scuffs his
shoe on the ground, kicking up gravel. “Do you want to talk about it, or do you want me to
leave you alone? I can go sit somewhere else. Or take a walk. I just needed to know you’re
alright. And see you’re in one piece.”

Regulus’ heart beats an erratic rhythm against his ribs. The man in front of him keeps his
posture relaxed, but Regulus can see the tense set of his shoulders. The way his hand flexes at
his side. His knuckles are bruised, the skin split over some. Exactly how many punches did
James get in before someone hauled him off?

If he stays, the conversation will become inevitable. There’s no doubt about it. Regulus wants
to tell him everything even though it terrifies him. But the alternative is asking James to walk
away, to let him go, and if James leaves…

“Don’t go,” he finds himself saying before he can think twice about it. “Stay. Please.”

James’ whole body visibly relaxes. “Do you mind if I sit?”

“Yeah, of course.” Regulus shuffles over on the bench to give James room to sit next to him.
To his surprise, James holds out a hand. “You smoke?”

“Not really, but I’m a little on edge.”

“Yeah. Yeah, me too.” Regulus passes him the cigarette and watches out of the corner of his
eye. He’s not at all surprised James looks this attractive with a cigarette between his lips,
smoke billowing from his nostrils, the corners of his mouth. It does piss Regulus off a little
bit, though. Quit being everything I want. “So, you’ve met my parents. What did you think?”

James snorts, and smoke puffs from his nose. “They’re lovely.”
“Aren’t they?” Regulus reaches for the champagne bottle between his feet. “Unfortunately,
they’re not the worst of the bunch. Bellatrix is definitely the nastiest. She’ll carve you into
little pieces if you give her the chance.”

“Lestrange?”

“Her reputation precedes her.”

James blows a smoke ring into the air, scrunching his nose. “We’ve met. I’m not a fan.”

“Most aren’t.”

“Anyone else I should keep an eye out for?”

Regulus brings the bottle to his lips, but he finds it difficult to swallow the sweet, bubbly
liquid. His heart has taken up residency in his throat, and his stomach has left his body. After
he finally manages a hearty swallow, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and
whispers, “My brother.”

“Sirius.”

He can’t stop the full body flinch at the sound of his brother’s name in James’ mouth. “You
knew I was lying, didn’t you? That first night when we went out to eat and I said I was an
only child. You knew.”

James twirls the cigarette between his fingers, lips pursed. “I did, yeah. I’ve known who you
are since the night you told me your real name. Not a lot of Regulus Blacks in the world,
much less in England.”

“No, I suppose there aren’t,” Regulus mutters bitterly.

“I figured you had a good reason for lying. It wasn’t my place to pry. It was the first time
we’d ever met outside of the club, and I didn’t want to fuck it up by forcing you to out all of
your secrets like I deserved to know them.”

“Do you want to know?”

“Know what, love?”

“Why I lied.”

James glances at him sidelong. He’s quiet for a moment, lost in thought behind his glasses.
Then, “I want to know all about you, but I’m not going to push. Tell me as much or as little
as you want.”

With a shaky exhale, Regulus plucks the cigarette from between James’ lips and passes him
the bottle of champagne. It’s half-empty, and the cigarette is nearly finished, but there are
plenty enough of both to get him through this.
“Sirius left when I was fourteen.” The words are acid on his tongue. Nasty, awful things he
keeps locked away. James drinks quietly beside him, waiting. “He just…walked out. Said
he’d come back for me and then never fucking did. I waited every day, because he promised.
I let my mother hit and scream at me. I let my father slam me to the floor. I took it all—
because Sirius promised he would come back.”

James holds out the champagne, but Regulus shakes his head. He snubs out his cigarette and
lights another instead.

“I waited for four years. Four. He never wrote. Never called. Didn’t bother to reach out. He
left me all alone in that house with people he knew would hurt me, and he didn’t even bother
to check I was alive.” His laugh is a humorless, dead thing. “I realized I meant nothing to my
brother when he walked out, so as far as I’m concerned, he means nothing to me, too.”

This time, he reaches for the bottle of champagne, and James lets him take it.

“I don’t know if he’s still alive. I don’t know where he is. I thought about looking for him
after I left, but I think if I saw him… I don’t know what I’d do. Scream at him? Strangle him?
Cry? Ask him how he could do that to his little brother? Is there a point to any of it? It
doesn’t change what happened or what he did.”

James reaches out to rest a hand on Regulus’ thigh. It stills the incessant up down up down
up down his leg has done for the past few minutes. “What happened after you left? Once you
were on your own?”

“I went off the fucking rails. Or at least that’s how Pandora usually puts it.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” James assures softly. He reaches for
the cigarette; it’s been burning to ash between Regulus’ fingers. “I told you earlier—you can
take whatever shape you want. Tell me, don’t tell me. It won’t change how I feel about you.”

“Don’t speak so soon.”

“I promise I’m not.”

Regulus fiddles with the bottle’s fancy label. His tongue sits heavy behind his teeth again, but
he takes a deep breath of cool air—and begins. “I didn’t have a lot when I left. I put away as
much money as I could the year leading up to my eighteenth birthday, but I didn’t know the
first thing about the real world. My parents sheltered us. I only ever knew ungodly wealth.”

The champagne is no longer a comfort, but he drinks it anyway. “I secretly applied to a uni
far away from our house in Islington, but since I turned eighteen in June, I didn’t have
anywhere to go during the months in between. I was in and out of hotels, which burned
through a lot of the money I’d saved. And I was alone. No friends. No family. I found a flat
near campus, but…”

James finishes the cigarette and holds out his hand. Regulus passes him the carton and little
silver lighter.
“Term started, and I don’t think I’d ever felt more alone in my entire life. Uni was always
something Sirius and I talked about doing the same way. He’s four years older, so the plan
was that he’d leave, get settled, then come back for me so we could live in the same flat.
Then I’d go to the same uni as him once I graduated. Before everything happened, we were…
We were close.”

Regulus sips champagne, his gaze trained on the moon. “I had a hard time making friends. I
didn’t know how. I always had Sirius, and the friends our parents bought for us. Everyone
wants to be friends with your wallet when it’s deeper than the fucking Mariana Trench. So it
was easy for me to fall in with the wrong people. It’s not like I knew what the ‘wrong people’
looked like.”

He watches James out of the corner of his eye. James’ face remains impassive, not lost in
thought but listening intently. He cups his hand around the end of a cigarette to light it when a
cold wind blows through. Once he’s satisfied, his hand rests back on Regulus’ thigh.

It’s a gentle squeeze that gives him the courage to keep going.

“It was fine at first, but within a few months I was partying. Hard. The people I was ‘friends’
with had just enough money to be dangerous. I still had just enough. And the more I drank
with them, the more they seemed to like me. When you have no friends and no family, you’ll
do anything, I think. And it… It helped me forget.”

The memories ooze between the slats of the box Regulus usually keeps them in, and not for
the first time, he wishes he could turn back time and redo that first year and a half he was on
his own.

James squeezes his thigh again.

“We’d stay out all night, sleep an hour or two, go to class, and then do it all again. The people
I was friends with knew all the good parties and clubs. We got in everywhere. Summer is
when it got really bad, though. We didn’t have classes, so I was out all night, sleeping all
day… And then it got—it got so much worse.”

He inhales a shaky breath, palms clammy despite the cold. James’ hand slips on his thigh,
fingers tucked underneath his leg and thumb rubbing absently back and forth. It’s what he
does when he drives, and the familiarity of it soothes Regulus more than the champagne and
cigarettes combined.

“I hit rock bottom at the end of summer just before term started up again. I was drinking a
lot. Started doing coke. My friends could get it easily, and it was just…something more. But I
was running out of money.” Regulus pulls the label off the bottle piece by piece. “I slept
around. Did shit I shouldn’t have for extra money. Hated myself for all of it, so I drank more.
Did more drugs.”

The lines of James’ body are tense, but his thumb still follows the same back and forth path
on Regulus’ thigh.
“It was a bad cycle, because the second I was sober, I would spiral and remember everything.
My parents, Sirius, what I was doing and why… I was so bitter and angry. And I was
surrounded by people as fucked up and awful as I was. I didn’t know how to get out of it.”

It’s impossible to read James. He’s hidden all of his cards, waiting to see what hand Regulus
plays first. But at least he hasn’t left yet, and there’s no going back now.

“I was probably well on my way to a stay in the hospital when I met Evan and Barty.” Most
of the time he spent intoxicated is a blur, but after Evan and Barty barreled into his life, the
fog lifts enough for him to remember finer details. “They were wild, and they partied, but not
like me. They knew how to do it in moderation.”

These memories hurt a little less, even if they’re not exactly part of a pretty picture. James
squeezes his thigh gently again.

“We were…together. Me, Barty, and Evan. For a bit. We became friends, and then one night
it just sort of…happened. Pretty sure we were all a little drunk and high, but the next time we
were sober. And the time after that. It kept happening, until they told me I could stay with
them instead of in the shitty flat I shared with my shitty friends.”

Regulus inhales a shaky, chilled breath. He sips champagne but feels terribly sober. “Anyway,
they told me no more drinking in excess. No more hard drugs. For the first time in almost two
years, I remember thinking, ‘Oh. People do care about me.’ But it took months. I was a mess,
and I didn’t know how to deal with the paranoia that my family was watching me when I was
sober.”

Without a word, James passes him the cigarette. He takes it and offers the champagne in
return. James swallows a hearty gulp before Regulus barrels on.

“I didn’t know how to deal with the loss of Sirius, either. Mourning someone who isn’t even
dead is the worst fucking thing. I knew he was out there somewhere, but it didn’t feel that
way. He wasn’t the one sitting on the bathroom floor with me while I detoxed, or helping me
find a center where I could stay anonymous but still get help. So I made a little family of my
own. Barty helped me get a job at the club so I could get back on my feet and stay in school,
and that’s… Well, that’s it, really. Now, I’m here.”

The last words settle between them, heavy and final. Regulus’ skin crawls, but he said what
he needed to. He was honest. He ripped the bandage off and there was nothing to do now but
hope James doesn’t mind a very nasty, very open wound.

I know this probably isn’t what you wanted. Panic settles in his chest the longer James
remains silent. He looks deep in thought now. Regulus has let the cigarette burn down to the
filter again. You probably thought this would be easier. A pretty stripper to play with. Your
sugar baby for a little while. Easy and fun and nice.

James blows smoke into the air. He’s lit his own cigarette, the bottle of champagne wedged
between his thighs. There’s a slight crease between his brows, but the remainder of his
expression remains smooth. Unreadable.
This is why I have so many different versions of myself. It’s easier to hide the nasty bits with
something pretty and fun. There’s so much Regulus wants to say, but will any of it make a
difference? He snubs his cigarette on the metal armrest of the bench. Grinds it to dust, unable
to stop himself from destroying something in the silence.

It’s stretched on for too long. He fucked up. He should’ve kept it all locked away and had fun
with James without all of this. It would’ve been easier, right? Even if the secrets grew too big
to ignore and eventually broke them both under the weight, it would’ve been easier to pretend
he didn’t have an awful family and missing brother and messy past. Issues upon issues upon
—

“I think I’m going to end up falling in love with you.”

Regulus’ head snaps to the side so hard his neck twinges. “What?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m pretty certain of it, actually.” James squints up at the night sky, his mouth
bunched to one side. “I’ve never been very good at doing things halfway. It’s why I’m not
usually a gambling man.”

“I’m sorry, but can we rewind, like, five seconds?”

“I don’t care what you did or who you were. If you’re ashamed of it, don’t be. I know that’s
easier said than done, but none of it changes how I feel about you. Honestly, love, it’ll take a
lot more than that to get rid of me.” He shoots Regulus a crooked grin, squeezing his thigh
again. “Your parents are awful fucking people. No one can blame you for not knowing how
to deal with all of that. You were only eighteen.”

Regulus shifts his gaze to his feet, cheeks burning and neck hot. “I’m not proud of it, though.
I could’ve done better. I could’ve been better. If I’d just…”

“Stop. Don’t do that to yourself. You were alone in that house for four years with people who
liked hurting you. And they’re people who are never supposed to hurt you. I can’t even
imagine what that felt like. And then to run away all on your own? That’s not easy to do.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” he says softly. “I just wish I’d done it differently. Maybe then I
wouldn’t feel so shitty about it all of the time.”

James has taken to spinning the cigarette carton between his fingers, lips pursed while he
continues staring up at the sky. “Have you…” He clears his throat, then tries again. “Have
you ever thought about trying to find him? Your brother, I mean. I know no one’s seen him in
years, but—”

“Absolutely the fuck not.” Regulus recoils at the suggestion, shaking his head vehemently.
“He left, James. Just walked out and left. No calls. No messages. Nothing. He broke his
promise. And really, I should’ve seen it coming. He had a boyfriend when he left. He didn’t
need me. Not like I needed him. But I don’t need him anymore, so wherever he is, I hope his
life is nice. Easy.”

“I don’t have a brother, but if I did—”

“I mean it, James. I’ve had the money to try and find him for a long time. I could’ve given it
a shot. Hell, he’s probably no more hidden than I am. I’m sure our parents are one step
behind him. They know all about me and I thought I was safe,” he adds, bile rising in his
throat again. “So just… Let it go. Please. Yes, I have a brother. But as far as I’m concerned, I
don’t. And I’m okay with that. I mourned him, and I have my own family now. They’re more
than good enough for me.”

James nods slowly, blowing air past his lips. “Alright. I’m sorry. I just thought I’d ask. Do
you feel better, though? Now that you’ve told me?”

“I feel…lighter. Not better, because those memories really fucking suck. But I’m glad that
you know. And that you didn’t get up and walk away.” Regulus shuffles closer to James’
side. He sighs, content, when the warmth that always radiates off of James eases some of the
cold. “You still haven’t explained yourself.”

“Mm?”

Regulus sets his chin on James’ shoulder, curls tickling the tip of his nose. “I know you know
what I’m talking about. You’re very smart.”

“Not even a little bit.”

“James.”

“All I’ve wanted since this started was to know you. Not the version you think will protect
you, but the real you.” James turns so their noses brush. This close, he smells of champagne,
Italian cigarettes, and sandalwood laced with citrus. “And I think I just met him for the first
time.”

Regulus searches James’ eyes for any sign he might be lying, but there’s nothing there but
gentle warmth.

“In case you couldn’t tell, I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve. I can hide it sometimes, but
not with you. Not anymore. So I’m asking very nicely that you please don’t break it, but it’s
not going to be long before I hand it right over.”

“What happened to taking this slow?”

“That was the respectable, gentlemanly version of me. He’s better at moderation. I didn’t
want to be too much and scare you off. It can happen sometimes, and I was terrified it would
happen with you.”

Regulus arches a brow, leaning in close enough he has to tilt his head to keep their noses
from bumping. “Then what about the non-gentlemanly James? Does he want to take this
slow?”

“No, not at all. He’s actually a little obsessed with you.” James reaches to cup Regulus’
cheek. His thumb rubs gently under Regulus’ eye, right over the spot where his mother split
skin. “Are you alright, though? This evening was…not what I thought it would be. Most of
the older families send liaisons in their place, so I thought even if they did plan to bid, they
wouldn’t show their faces. I’m so sorry, love. I really did check before I invited you.”

Oh, he does not deserve this man. He knows he doesn’t, but his fingers still circle James’
wrist to hold his hand in place. Regulus turns into his palm, breathing deep. “I’m alright,” he
answers honestly. “A little shaken up, but I’ll be fine. I can’t go back there, though. I can’t
see her again.”

“Oh, that’s alright. I can’t go back their either.” James’ grin broadens, and he looks far too
pleased with himself. “Punched your dad, remember? Security hauled me out. And him, I
think, but they were smart and took him somewhere else.”

“Oh, God.” Regulus laughs with his lips pressed to the soft, tender spot at the base of James’
thumb. “I need you to know that’s the hottest thing you could’ve ever done.” He pulls back,
twisting James’ hand to stare at his bruised knuckles. “Did he go down? Tell me he didn’t
stay standing.”

“Like a sack of potatoes.”

“How many times did you punch him?”

“Not enough.”

Regulus groans, deflating against the back of the bench. “Actually, I kinda hope it’s on TMZ.
I’ll have to record the episode so I can rewatch it a thousand times.”

“You’re objectifying me.”

“Uh huh. And it’ll get worse once I’ve watched that episode.” Regulus sets James’ palm back
on his cheek and leans in. His tongue darts out to flick over James’ lips. The shaky exhale in
response sends a warmth coiling low in his abdomen. “So we don’t have to go back?”

“Nope. We can do whatever we want.”

“And are you really as obsessed with me as you said?”

James’ hand, warm and gentle, slips into his curls to cradle the base of his skull, and Regulus
lets himself be pulled in closer. “Probably even more than I said, and it’s getting worse by the
second.”

“Prove it to me.”

The kiss sears right through him. It’s hungry, a little desperate. Exactly what he needs after
everything else carved a piece out of him. It tastes of champagne and cigarettes, and Regulus
moans into James’ open mouth when a hand curves around the underside of his thigh. It tries
to tug him closer, to urge him into James’ lap.

It terrifies him a little, how easily he melts into James. How the anxiety of the evening is still
there, but it doesn’t have to consume him. He doesn’t have to run from it. He can feel it for a
while, and then—this. He’s more aware than ever that he’s mid-freefall, tumbling head over
heels towards an unknown. But maybe, if James is falling with him, it won’t be so bad. He
might even survive it.

“We should—probably—get going,” James manages between kisses. Regulus is practically in

his lap, the hand hooked under Regulus’ thigh still urging him forward for more. “Not sure
what Italy’s laws are on public indecency.”

“We’re not doing anything indecent. Kissing isn’t indecent.”

James takes Regulus’ hand from his hair and presses it right over his groin. He’s half-hard,
beginning to strain against his trousers.

“Oh. Never mind,” Regulus says with a slight giggle and hiccup. He falls back against the
bench, grinning from ear to ear. “Leave the cigarettes, but bring the champagne. Oh, and the
lighter. That was a gift.”

James raises a questioning brow, but Regulus shakes his head.

“I’ll tell you later.”

“You sure you want to leave the cigarettes? This is a good brand. You can only get it in Italy.”

“I know. But I don’t need them anymore. Come on.” Regulus gets to his feet and holds out
his hand. “How far is the hotel from here?”

“A fifteen minute walk, I think. It’s close. You were headed in the right direction.”

“Perfect. Because I think I drank too much champagne. I need to walk it off.”

James’ laugh is loud and bright, and it fills the too quiet, too empty space of the park. It fills
Regulus, too. He takes Regulus’ hand and gets to his feet, grabbing the bottle of champagne
as he goes. “I still can’t believe you stole this and just walked right out the front door.”

“They had plenty, and I needed it more. Also, that’s good champagne.”

“It is. We’ll finish it and order more later. How does that sound?”

Regulus turns so he can walk backwards, their joined hands held between them. “It sounds
perfect.” He bites his bottom lip, heat spreading through him when James’ gaze darkens.

“You’re something else, you know that?” he murmurs, low and deep.

“Really? I had no idea.”

James tugs him, and he stumbles forward, laughing fully, right into James’ broad chest. “You
know exactly what sort of effect you have on me. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

They’ve stopped walking. Instead, they stand in the middle of a narrow street—Regulus
looking up at James, and James looking back. He reaches to move an errant curl off Regulus’
forehead, then leans in to kiss him between his brows.
 “Oh, love,” he murmurs, and Regulus feels his smile grow. “The things I plan to do to you.
We’ve got all night now, you know.”

In response, Regulus loops his arms around James’ neck and kisses him. They stand there,
kissing in the middle of the road, until headlights turn the corner, a car honks, and James is
forced to pull away. He laces their fingers together and tugs Regulus along beside him in the
direction of their hotel.

Feeling fit to burst with too much anticipation and an unnamable thing, Regulus asks James
to bend his knees, then clambers onto his back.

“You want me to carry you like this the whole way to the hotel?” he asks, adjusting his grip
under Regulus’ knees while Regulus plugs the address into his phone. “I’m almost thirty,
love. I might break something.”

“Hush. You’re fine. Besides, it’s very good to warm up before you work out. That way you
don’t pull any muscles. I’m doing you a favor.”

“You are so lucky you’re pretty.”

Regulus nips at James’ ear, grinning, then buries his face in James’ neck. He keeps his arms
and legs wrapped tight around James, the champagne dangling from his fingertips. Despite
James’ initial protests, he carries Regulus with ease, following the little dot mapping their
progress on Regulus’ phone.

And for the first time in a long time, Regulus feels light as a feather.

Chapter End Notes

*jazz hands*

oh reggie, my most beloved of them all, i really do put you through the horrors 😔 so
anyway yeah, that cat is out of the bag! reggie has quite the tumultuous past, and he
does not like his brother. kinda hates him, in fact.

and before you drag me through the public square over it because blah blah sirius would
never, think about the nuances of the situation and how reggie felt at fourteen when his
big brother walked out with the promise to come get him and then never did. regardless
of why or what happened, regulus perceives the situation in a very particular way. it's
why he's bitter, angry, and really fucking sad. because he waited. and waited. and
waited, and sirius never came for him. even if he tried, he clearly didn't try hard enough
to regulus.

because it's regulus who is narrating this story, not some omniscient presence who can
put itself in sirius' shoes. regulus' perception of what happened is key to how he feels
about it as well as sirius. it's why he opted not to find his brother and made a new family
instead. he learned to stand on his own two feet and be on his own, albeit in a really
roundabout and not exactly good way. so yeah. his resentment runs deep. and sorry but
the black brothers angst isn't finished.

anyway, i hope you enjoyed :) the 'Angst' tag is there for a reason. i wasn't gonna do a
stripper baby au without a little drama. but don't worry, we earn that E rating in ch 9 —
and then some. so see you then <3
 i got a new man on me, it’s about to get sweaty
Chapter Summary

milan, part three

Chapter Notes

i don't usually do this, but this chapter has a very specific playlist (if that's your thing):
- "Boys Like You" — Tanerélle
- "Pretty Life" — Terrell Morris, Free n Losh
- "Love Is a Bitch" — Two Feet
- "Unforgettable" — French Montana, Swae Lee
- "obsessed" — zandros, Limi

and a special thank you to Alex for the art 🖤 enjoy... :)

Not even a knife could cut the tension filling every corner of the lift. Regulus might vibrate
out of his skin if James looks at him one more time. His gaze is too heated, too full of
promise, and Regulus’ heart leaps into his throat whenever it lands on him.

James leans against the back wall of the lift, arms and ankles crossed. He watches Regulus
with an amused expression, eyes burning behind his glasses. “Am I making you nervous,
love?” he asks, his tone too fucking sweet for him to not know exactly what he’s doing.

“No.” But it comes out all wrong. Regulus spins on his heel, turning away from James, and
scans his room key over the reader. The lift begins its steady rise to their suite on the topmost
floor. He doesn’t even need to turn around to know James still wears his signature crooked
grin.

“If you’re not nervous, why won’t you look me in the eye?” he teases.

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Why not?”
“Because,” Regulus sputters, fidgeting with the bottle of champagne in his hands. He keeps
his gaze trained on the digital number above the door, watching it slowly go up, up, up.

Underneath his suit, he’s hot. Burning up and itching to take it all off so he can feel cool air
on his skin. The expensive linen is suddenly too rough. And all of it is made worse by James’
stare; it bores relentlessly into the spot between Regulus’ shoulder blades.

Since when did James have this much power and control over him? He’s never this nervous
with men. If anything, he’s the opposite. He doesn’t even feel anticipation most of the time.
Sex is a means to an end.

So why does he feel ready to crawl out of his skin from little more than a heated look?

You win, James.

Oh.

Well.

Fuck.

Fabric shifts behind him. He hears light, casual footsteps on pristinely polished floors. His
breath quickens at the press of James’ chest against his back, firm and solid. Teeth nibble on
his left ear, careful to avoid his piercings, and James’ low, throaty hum rumbles through him.

A strong hand circles his throat. Grips firm under his jaw to tilt his head back an inch, and it’s
a damn miracle his knees don’t hit the floor.

“Do you even know how lovely you are?” James’ breath blows hot over his ear. Deft fingers
undo the few buttons on his jacket to push it aside. They tug at his shirt, untucking it from his
waistband. “I couldn’t take my eyes off of you the first night I saw you. I still can’t take my
eyes off of you.”

Regulus whines softly when James’ fingertips slip under his waistband. Heat radiates off the
man toying with him; he can feel it through his jacket, his shirt. He feels it through bone and
sinew and right down to his core.

“James,” he gasps when that damned hand slips lower still, “there are cameras in here. We
shouldn’t…”

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”

Regulus’ silence is terribly loud.

“Thought so.” James’ thumb rests over where his pulse races under his skin. Is it obvious?
Can James feel him coming apart at the seams over this simple touch? “Let them watch.”
Another nip at his ear. Fingertips brushing back and forth over lace. “I’ll just ask them for the
footage later.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works.” Regulus tries to steady his breathing, to feign some
semblance of control. James’ thumb rubs gently over his pulse point, the touch almost absent.
“The hotel owns the tape. They won’t give you anything.”

“Then I’ll buy the hotel.”

Regulus huffs a disbelieving laugh, but it sounds nervous even to his own ears. “Oh, of
course. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. It’s what most people would think to do.”

“You’re being very mouthy.”

“Not my fault you’ve left it empty.”

“Mm.” James’ thumb presses firmly into the underside of Regulus’ jaw. “For now.”

He can’t manage another witty retort. His focus narrows in on the wild pulse of his blood
under James’ thumb—it presses, a question, and in answer, Regulus leans into it. A wrecked
sound falls past his lips. There’s another soft laugh, a low rumble against his back.

“How do you want it, love? We could start gentle… Take it nice and slow?”

“No. I don’t want it nice.” Regulus tightens his hold on the neck of the champagne bottle. “I
hate it when it’s always nice.”

“Good,” James replies simply. “So do I.”

The lift stops, and the doors slide open to reveal their dimly lit suite.

Regulus doesn’t even think. He spins in James’ arms, grabs hold of his ridiculously
expensive tie, and yanks him out of the lift. They stumble, a mess of limbs in the second
before Regulus shoves him against the wall hard enough to shift a painting hung over the
credenza. James grunts, a wicked smile blooming just before Regulus crashes into him.

This kiss is explosive. It’s every teasing smirk and bright laugh and sultry promise. It’s every
wait, love and not yet, baby, every needy moan with Regulus’ name attached. He’s been
starving for James for too long, has waited and been so fucking good, but he’s had enough.

“Baby, the—” James is abruptly caught off when Regulus sucks on his tongue. He moans low
in his throat, hands firm at the small of Regulus’ back. But then he murmurs urgently, “Baby,
the—the champagne, it’s—Shit, that’s cold.”

Regulus pulls back, startled. A bit dazed, it takes a second for him to realize the champagne
bottle is lodged between James’ head and the wall. Too consumed by the heat of their kiss, he
didn’t notice the open bottle spilling sweet-smelling champagne all over James’ shoulders,
chest, and back.

“Oh, shit. Shit. Your suit… Fuck, I ruined it. I’m so—”

“It’s fine. I’ll get it cleaned. It’s just a suit.” James shrugs off his jacket and drops it to the
floor. His shirt clings to his shoulders, every hill and valley of shifting muscle on display.
James clocks the way Regulus stares, fixated on the soaked white linen clinging to his skin,
and rolls his eyes. “Quit objectifying me and come here.”

Regulus giggles into James’ mouth when he’s pulled forward by the rough hand in his hair.
Everything smells of champagne and Italian cigarettes, of sandalwood and citrus. James even
tastes sweet. His tongue rolls over Regulus’, playing with the metal bar run through it.

With one hand still occupied by the bottle, Regulus has no choice but to yank at James’ shirt.
He untucks it, tries to be nice about the buttons, but feels a sudden burn of frustration.
They’re in the way. All of it is in his way, keeping him from what’s underneath.

“Okay, now you’ve ruined a part of my suit,” James muses after Regulus rips at the front of
his shirt. It sends buttons bouncing all over the entryway’s marble floors.

“I don’t care anymore. Buy another.”

Regulus kisses him filthy before he can argue. He groans when James’ hand finds its way
between their bodies to yank at both of their belts. Regulus’ is undone in seconds, run
through the loops, then dropped unceremoniously to the floor. James manages to unbuckle
and toss his own aside in half the time.

He makes a noise like a contented sigh when his hand slips into Regulus’ trousers to grip his
ass. He kneads it, grinning like mad. Shoves Regulus’ trousers down for better access and
murmurs, “Fucking perfect.”

Their kisses are messy, all tongue, and Regulus isn’t sure he’s ever made sounds like this in
his life. Head spinning, he yanks at the knot of James’ tie. Gets the length of it wrapped
around his fist. It takes all of his willpower to shove at James’ chest, to force himself back.
Away. Out of James’ heated embrace.

“Baby, what—?”

Regulus takes one step back and then another. He toes off his Oxfords, kicking them to the
side. The bottle dangles from his fingertips, lighter now that over half of its contents drip
down James’ chest. In his other hand, a crimson tie dangles from his fingers.

“Love,” says James, eyes dark and glazed over, “where are you going?” He leans against the
wall, chest heaving, and watches Regulus continue to take steps towards their bedroom.

“Where do you think?” Regulus holds the tie between them, one brow quirked. He pulls his
bottom lip between his teeth, head slightly tilted. “Come on, daddy. You don’t really think I
made you buy this tie for an auction, do you?”

A muscle feathers in James’ jaw and like a puppet on a string, he follows.

“I have more for you,” Regulus says airily, slipping into the bedroom. “If you want it.”

James watches with narrowed eyes. “More what?”

“Do you want me to tell you or show you?”

“Show. Definitely show.”

Regulus sets the champagne down at the foot of the bed and drops James’ tie on the white
duvet. “Then wait here.”

He’s thankful he had the foresight to leave his garment bag hanging on the back of the
bathroom door. Not that he expected this, but maybe the universe did. Because there it is,
tucked between a light green jumper and pair of dark jeans—a glimpse of brilliant cherry red.

Through the closed door, he hears the hum of music turned down low. With James occupying
himself, Regulus has a little more time. He slips out of his suit and leaves it in a pile on the
bathroom floor, unconcerned. James’ is covered in champagne, anyway.

His shower is quick, but he scrubs at his skin until it pinkens. This moment with James
doesn’t deserve the nastier pieces of their evening. Instead, he lets it all swirl away down the
drain with a small smile on his face. He feels lighter when he twists the nozzle, and a hell of a
lot more like himself.

The lingerie he brought to Milan is slightly different than the one he teased James with these
last few weeks. The bottoms are the same—a G-string and garter belt attached to sheer, thigh
high black stockings—but the top is new. It’s a cropped, skin tight piece with no sleeves and
a high neckline. A diamond cutout exposes the skin between the hollow of his throat to
slightly above where his sternum ends.

He inhales deep to steady himself and stares at his reflection in the mirror. Red makes him
feel powerful. Unstoppable. Sexy. And isn’t that the point of it all? Though it’s always how
he feels with James; he’s not sure it has much to do at all with what he wears. Still, he can’t
deny he looks damn good in this.

With one more grounding breath, he opens the door slowly. The bedroom lights have been
dimmed, but the floor to ceiling windows give a stunning view of Milan. The cityscape
bathes everything in a soft golden glow. James’ tie still lays on the duvet where Regulus left
it, the champagne untouched on the carpet. On the other side of the bed, James fiddles with a
small stereo and his phone.

“Music?” asks Regulus, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

“Well, yeah. I thought it might set the—” James cuts himself off with a cough when he turns
and his gaze lands on Regulus. “Mood,” he finishes, wide-eyed. His throat bobs. “Gotta set
the…”

“You alright?”

“I’m—I’m processing. Pretty sure all of the blood in my brain just rushed south.”

Regulus fights a grin and pushes off the doorframe. He drops his arms so James can take it all
in properly. Which he does with blatant hunger, eyes darkening as the seconds tick past.
“Like what you see?” asks Regulus, crossing the room with deliberate steps. He’s careful to
keep them graceful. Fluid.
“Baby, you’re the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen,” James murmurs. He meets Regulus at
the foot of the bed and hooks a finger under his chin to tilt his face up once he’s within reach.
“Red is definitely your color.”

“Or is it just that red is your favorite?”

James grins crookedly. “Can’t it be a little bit of both?”

“It can be whatever you want it to be.”

Apparently, it’s the right answer. James kisses him softly, still smiling. It’s not as hurried and
frantic as before, though it’s no less heated. James keeps it slow even when it deepens.

Regulus melts into his chest, arms circling his neck to pull him closer. They exchange soft
noises, though most of them come from Regulus. James’ hands follow the curve of his waist,
the bend of his back, the swell of his ass. They’re everywhere and nowhere for long, fiddling
with the crop top’s hem, the garter belt. He even dips to hook his hand under Regulus’ thigh,
tugging his leg up to run a palm over the soft stockings clinging to his skin.

“These are my favorite,” James muses, plucking at the fabric. “Wear them always. For me?”

“I knew you had a stockings kink.”

“Is it that obvious?” James’ hands settle on his hips, urging him to twist. “Turn around, love.”

The why is on his tongue, but Regulus does as he’s told. Nervous anticipation builds in his
spine at James’ touch—a single fingertip traces the end of the tattoo over his vertebrae, then
slips lower to toy with the elastic of the G-string.

He can’t stand it anymore. “James, what are you—”

“Hush. Don’t you trust me?”

“I do,” he says, surprised by how much he truly means it. “But—”

“Then close your eyes.”

His breaths come in shaky inhales and shuddering exhales, but Regulus lets his eyes flutter
shut. He’s never handed over this much control during sex. He always maintains the upper
hand. Vulnerability like this is foreign to him. It’s more intimate than he expected; his skin
feels peeled away. Every touch is electric. Every short breath on his skin sends a shiver down
his spine.

There’s movement, but he can only guess what it is until gentle but firm hands slip down his
arms to his wrists. They’re tugged behind his back, one on top of the other, before James
works the silk tie through and around.

“Oh,” he breathes, realization dawning on him slowly. “Oh, that’s…”

“Okay?”
“Yeah. Yes. More than okay, it’s—Oh, God.”

James kisses his bare shoulder, noses over the soft fabric of his top, then hooks a finger in the
neckline to tug it aside. “Thought you might like that.”

“Is it that obvious?” Regulus echoes back, tilting his head to give James more access to the
line of his throat.

“No offense, love, but you’re a little easy for me to read.”

“I really hope you can back up that massive ego.”

James’ teeth graze his pulse. “On your knees.”

He doesn’t have it in himself to argue. Regulus eases to the floor, the carpet a plush cushion
under his knees. He sits back on his heels and watches James circle him. Delicate fingers trail
along his jaw. Then it’s a thumb pressed to the center of his bottom lip, and he takes the tip of
it between his teeth.

Their eye contact doesn’t break even when Regulus swirls his tongue languidly. James’ other
hand is busy tugging at his zipper, undoing buttons. He kicks his trousers off to the side.
Takes Regulus’ chin in the curl of his fingers and tugs, urging him forward and on his knees.

His gaze drops to the bulge in James’ briefs. “Fuck,” he breathes, breaking the heavy silence
as he takes in the outline of it. He’s felt it through James’ trousers enough times to know it
isn’t small, that James is packing plenty, but to see it like this, to have it so close and know
it’s his, has Regulus a little lightheaded.

“Eyes on me, love.”

Regulus flicks his gaze up but leans forward, unable to stop himself as the want takes over.
James is hot and unbearably hard under his lips. Everything here smells of him, of
sandalwood and citrus, and Regulus wets the cotton with his tongue, moaning low in his
throat.

His eyes roll back, fluttering shut again, but a sharp tug at his curls makes him yelp.

“Mírame.”

“But I—”

“Regulus.”

He looks up from under his lashes, his lips in a pout. “Is this better, daddy?”

“Mouthy.”

“Because it’s still empty.”

James’ eyes flash, and his jaw works to fight a wicked grin. “Fine,” he mutters, hooking a
thumb in the waistband of his briefs. “Open up if you wanna be filled so bad.”

Regulus wants to look down, to see in full what’s sprung free from James’ briefs, but he
keeps his eyes locked with James’ instead. Still, his mouth waters. It’ll be a surprise this way.
He’ll have to guess the girth and curve and length of it.

He opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, laughing when James’ eyes zero in on it
immediately.

“I think this might kill me.” He presses two fingers to Regulus’ waiting tongue, gaze hazy
with lust. He fiddles with the piercing, makes a soft noise. “Open wider, love.”

Regulus’ heart slams against his ribs. Between his legs, his own cock aches and strains
against red lace. He’s desperate for friction, but he’ll let James decide when he gets to have it.
There’s something unexpectedly intoxicating about not knowing when it’ll come, when
James will allow him to ease the pressure.

James is heavy and hot on his tongue. It’s a salty-sweet taste, distinct and delicious. His moan
comes from deep in his chest, a surprise even to him. James’ fingers tighten in his curls at the
sound. The hold prevents him from pushing forward to swallow James to the root.

“Take it slow, baby,” he murmurs, thumbing Regulus’ cheekbone gently.

He doesn’t know how to tell James he’s so fucking thrilled he could die right here, right now
—with his hands tied behind his back and James easing down his throat inch by inch. He
relaxes, breathes through his nose, and James slips in further without resistance. It earns him
a fractured moan, a breathy god, your throat is perfect.

It isn’t until Regulus’ nose brushes coarse, tight curls that James stills. He sets a hand against
Regulus’ throat and, with agonizing slowness, shifts his hips back. Pushes forward. Back
again, then forward.

“Holy shit,” he manages, staring down at Regulus who stares up at him with half-lidded eyes.
“I can feel my—Fuck. Your mouth is magic.”

Regulus’ eyes water, but he refuses to tap out. He won’t. Not when James is looking at him
like this—with awe and open wonder. With enough desire to fill every corner of the room. He
swirls his tongue around the head of James’ cock when he pulls almost entirely out of his
mouth, only to push slowly down his throat again.

But the next time James pulls out, Regulus croaks, “More. Harder. I don’t care. Just—more.”

“But if it’s too rough, I need you to have some way to tell me. And your hands…”

“How about if it’s too rough, I crush your toes under my knee?”

James rolls his eyes, but nods once. “Brat. But it’ll have to do.”

“It’s fine. I won’t need it.”

“Oh?”

Regulus smiles with all of his teeth, then sticks out his tongue again in invitation. “Promise.
Come on, papi. Show me what you’ve got.”

It’s a challenge. It always is.

And oh, does it fucking work.

James is down his throat in a heartbeat, but this time, he doesn’t bother with gentle strokes he
eases into. This time, it’s long, deep thrusts, and Regulus feels the moment James’ control
snaps. He lets his eyes roll back, tears clumping his lashes together just before they fall from
the corners.

Wetness trails down his cheeks, but he doesn’t care. He’s a mess. He knows he is. But he
wants to be, because James is telling him it’s criminal how gorgeous you are and you take me
so fucking well and god, baby, you’re so good at this. The praise makes him desperate to
please more. It makes his moans louder, throatier, and James swears low under his breath.

There’s spit on Regulus’ chin and tears on his cheeks, but it isn’t enough. Wanton desperation
blooms behind his ribs. More, more, more, he thinks, even though he’s not sure what it is he
wants more of.

“I’m—Shit,” James hisses in sudden panic. He pulls out of Regulus’ mouth, fingers circled
tight around the base of his cock. His eyes are shut, his chest heaving. “Almost came,” he
rasps, shuddering.

Regulus licks his swollen lips; they taste of James. “That’s okay.” God, his voice is wrecked.
“You can come, daddy. If you want.”

“No.” James shakes his head vehemently. “Not until you do.”

“That’s sweet.”

“Don’t tease.”

“I’m not! It is sweet.”

“Brat.”

Regulus gasps, feigning offense. “Me? No, never. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Mouthy—again.”

“Because it’s empty—again.”

James’ eyes snap open, full of fire. He yanks Regulus’ head back with the hand still gripping
his curls, growls, “Open,” and pushes past Regulus’ lips with a sharp thrust.
He loses himself in the feel of James fucking his throat with reckless abandon. His mind is
entirely blank, too focused on keeping his body relaxed so James can use it. He squirms
every so often, aware in the brief seconds James lets him breathe that he’s aching, but then
James fills his mouth and he’s gone. It’s the first time he’s ever let a man have him like this;
he’s never given himself over so fully.

And he fucking loves it.

“Shit, shit, damn it,” James hisses, startled. He pulls out of Regulus quickly. A string of spit
and precum connects the tip of James’ cock to his lips, but when he tries to chase it, James
yanks at his hair. “Holy hell, baby. What are you?”

“Needy. Give it back.”

James laughs in disbelief. He’s flushed, eyes wide and a bit wild. “I can’t. I need—I need a
sec. Several, maybe. Or I’ll come.”

“And?”

“Not yet. I told you.”

Regulus settles back on his heels with a disgruntled sigh. His gaze lingers on James’ length—
thick, long, curved upward. Swollen and red, spit-slicked. He squirms, wrists rubbing
together, and glares up at James. “You’re a fucking tease.”

“I—” James laughs again, clearly taken aback. “Trust me, it’s taking all of my self-control
not to finish all over your pretty face right now.”

“Then do it.”

“Dios mío, baby. You’re bossy for someone with their wrists tied.”

Regulus sticks out his tongue, scowling. “Come on, daddy. Let me keep going. Please?”

“I deserve an award for how many times I’ve told you no because it’s fucking hard. Come
on, love. On your feet.”

Still pouting, Regulus lets James help him up. He’s dizzy, a little lightheaded from the lack of
oxygen, but he steadies when James kisses him gently. It’s almost reverent, the way James’
hands bracket his face, thumbs gentle over his cheekbones.

He wipes at the tears collected in the corners of Regulus’ eyes, murmuring, “You’re always
so good for me. Aren’t you?”

“Mm,” Regulus hums, nuzzling into James’ palm. He cants his hips forward with a soft
whine. “Touch me. Please. Give me that at least.”

James rests their foreheads together and looks down. He tugs at the front of Regulus’ G-
string, whistling low. “It’s pretty untouched, though. So pink and shiny.”
“James.”

“Yeah, I don’t answer to that right now.” James lets the elastic snap back, and Regulus hisses
a litany of curses under his breath, glaring. James smacks his ass lightly, nodding to the bed.
“Go on.”

The mattress shifts under Regulus’ weight. The duvet is pristine and smooth, all of its corners
tucked in, but his knees ruin it with slight divots. He whimpers when James’ hand splays
between his shoulder blades to push him forward until his cheek rests on soft, expensive
linen.

We’re going to ruin these, he thinks, closing his eyes. Absently, he adds a nonsensical I’m
sorry for the hotel. He can only imagine how much this bedding cost.

His fingers twitch at the base of his spine, and his cock hangs heavy between his legs. The
lingerie barely holds him, the front of it damp. He tries to slide his knees wider, to use his
flexibility to his benefit and get the friction he craves, but James’ hands come out of nowhere
to grip his hips—hard.

“None of that,” James says, almost cheery, with another light smack to Regulus’ ass.

He squirms against the crimson tie, silk sliding over his skin. He’s hauled back up on his
knees, grumbling into the mattress. It dips with James’ weight. Regulus wishes he could turn
his head to look over his shoulder; he can’t see what James is doing. James isn’t even
touching him, though Regulus can feel the heat emanating off of his body.

“James…?”

“Shh, baby, I’ve got you.”

Regulus opens his mouth to reply, but what comes out is a startled squeak. He jerks, knees
slipping on the smooth linen underneath him. Cold liquid trails down the curve of his ass, the
back of his thigh. Just before it can reach the hem of his stockings, there’s silky, wet heat, and
Regulus swears.

Champagne, he realizes.

James has poured champagne over him, and now he’s following the rivulets with his tongue.
He does it again, the mixed sensation of cold and hot making Regulus wriggle under his
ministrations.

“Oh, my God,” Regulus moans into the duvet, only to say it again in a rushed stream when
James pours champagne down the back of his other thigh.

But this time, James follows it over the curve of his ass to the dimples at the base of his
spine. His chest heaves with stuttering breaths when a wet tongue drags down the cleft of his
ass and over cherry red elastic. James’ laugh at his high-pitched, needy sound is a rush of
warm breath.
James does it again, and again, and again, until Regulus shivers underneath him, and not
from the champagne’s icy chill. With each pour, each trail he follows with his tongue, James
dips closer and closer to Regulus’ entrance. He’s fairly certain the G-string’s elastic is soaked
through with champagne and spit, but still James stops short, pulls away, and starts again.

Regulus swears filthy each time James starts anew. He tries to shift his hips, to spread his
knees, but James’ hand comes down hard on his ass with a sharp crack.

“I’m not done. Stay.”

“You’re a fucking tease,” Regulus snaps back, struggling against the vice grip James
maintains on his ankle. “Is there even any champagne left?”

“A little.”

Regulus whines, face buried in the duvet, when the now familiar chill hits his skin again. But
his whine turns into a moan when finally, finally, the tip of James’ tongue drifts featherlight
over his hole. It’s not nearly enough, but he thrashes anyway. He pushes his hips back,
searching, but James is already gone.

“Needy little thing,” he murmurs, running his hand up the line of Regulus’ calf, his thigh,
over his ass. “Self-control isn’t my strength, but patience is definitely not yours.”

Regulus jolts when James’ hand comes down again. His skin is sticky with dried champagne
and wet with spit. All he can manage is a broken, desperate, “Papi, please.”

It breaks whatever hold James had regained on his self-control.

He hooks one finger in the soaked red elastic to pull it aside, then licks a lazy, wet strip over
Regulus’ hole. The tip of his tongue circles Regulus’ rim over and over. Until he relents,
flattens his tongue, and Regulus thrashes hard enough James drops the empty champagne
bottle on the floor to grip his hips and hold him steady.

“Inside,” he begs, pushing back against James’ face.

James, who grips his thighs with thumbs tucked into the underside of his ass to spread him
wide. James, whose tongue works absolute fucking magic. He spits once, twice, before
pressing his thumb against the tight ring of muscle and whispering, “Open for me.”

Regulus melts as much as he can into the mattress when James finally pushes into him. He’s
craved it for so long his body doesn’t even put up much of a fight. “Another,” he croaks. “I
can take it. Another, daddy, please.”

“I know you can take it, but I’m taking my time.” James’ breath blows hot over Regulus’
spit-slicked hole. He licks at it again, dips the tip of his tongue inside, and Regulus has to
bury his face completely in the duvet to keep from crying out.

James works him open slowly. It’s torturous, though he’s starting to think that’s the whole
point. James all but devours him. Spit drips down the inside of his thighs, soaks his lingerie.
Not that it matters—he’s already soaked the lace front of it. James still hasn’t touched him,
and his desperation is beginning to break him down his center.

He’s so fragile that the first brush of James’ fingers, crooked inside and pressed down, makes
him sob. James does it again, circles his tongue and presses, rubbing his fingertips back and
forth and—

“James,” Regulus gasps in warning at the sudden tightness in his stomach, the fire low in his
spine. “James, I—I’m gonna—”

It’s a pointed smack to his ass, fingers dug into his flesh.

Regulus grits his teeth. Forces his scattered brain cells to collect together so he can say,
“Daddy, I’m gonna come if you—right there.”

Rather than relent, James eases a third finger in to the last knuckle. The stretch aches, a slight
burn, but it doesn’t last for long. He leans over Regulus, bends his fingers just right, and says,
“You can come, baby. It’s okay. I want you to come for me now, and then you’ll come again
on my cock.”

“Oh, God,” is all Regulus manages before his orgasm slams into him with all the finesse of a
freight train. Through the haze of pleasure, he realizes James has tugged the lingerie aside,
down around his thighs. A strong hand strokes him gently, and just like that—stars explode
behind his eyes.

Regulus’ entire body shakes from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes. He spills into
James’ waiting palm, hears good boy, that’s it, and thinks his brain may no longer be a
functioning part of his body. There’s nothing in it but white noise.

He’s still shivering with aftershocks when James’ fingers leave him empty. He whines, too
out of it to beg properly. James ignores him, busy unclipping the garter, sliding the lingerie
off and tossing it aside. He leaves the stockings, the top.

Regulus hisses at sticky warmth dripping down the cleft of his ass. Suddenly, James pushes
two fingers into him again and—oh. He flushes hot and buries his face in the duvet when he
realizes it’s his own cum that James spreads to slicken him further.

It’s terrible, really, how much he wants this man to break him into a thousand tiny pieces.

“Eres tan hermoso,” he hears James murmur before teeth graze the swell of his ass. “Mm, te
quiero comer… Every little bit. Until there’s nothing left of you. What do you think?”

“I have no idea what you said.” Regulus rests his forehead against the mattress, eyes
squeezed tightly shut.

“Maybe I’ll tell you later.”

Regulus opens his mouth to argue, but James’ heavy, hard length slides through the cleft of
his ass, and all of his words die on his tongue. James rubs his cock through a mess of spit and
cum, hissing when the thick head catches on Regulus’ rim.
“Ready, love?”

“Yeah,” he croaks. “I’m—I’m good.”

“I just know you’re gonna take me like a fucking dream,” James murmurs, running his hands
all over Regulus’ ass and lower back.

There’s no response in the English or French languages that Regulus can think of. He’s lost,
floating above the bed yet so grounded in his bones that he feels everything. He inhales
sharply when James eases into him; it’s only an inch, but he swears low, shuddering.

“C’mere.” James reaches to take hold of his biceps and pulls him up so they’re almost back
to chest. His bound wrists keep them slightly apart, but James’ arms still manage to circle his
waist. The angle pushes him deeper. “Fuck, baby, I—God. You’re so tight and hot.”

“More,” Regulus demands despite the ache. “More, daddy, come on.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I can take it. It’s—”

James bottoms out with a sound that’s part groan, gasp, and growl all in one, and Regulus is
suddenly so full he chokes. Three fingers were not enough to prepare him for this; he
breathes steadily, forcing himself to relax every muscle and take.

“There you go,” James says into his shoulder when his muscles ease to pull James in. “Do
you have any idea how long I’ve thought about this exact moment?” He peppers Regulus’
neck and shoulder with kisses. Circles a hand around his throat under his jaw. “But this? The
real thing? Fucking incredible. You are incredible.”

Regulus closes his eyes with a contented sigh. James thrusts into him shallow and slow,
swearing again.

“I need to—I need to know if you still want it rough, or if you’ve changed your mind,” James
says through gritted teeth. “We don’t have to, if it’s too much. I can—”

“No. I told you I can take it. It’s not too much.” Regulus’ back arches to make room for his
bound hands. He itches to touch, shoulders aching, but says, “Fuck me like you mean it,
papi.”

James inhales a shuddering breath. “Oh, dios mío. I’m gonna—Okay, baby. Okay.”

It’s all the warning James gives him before he pulls out just to slam back in hard enough
Regulus feels it in his stomach, his teeth. He cries out, equal parts startled and thrilled. James
doesn’t let up, doesn’t pause or falter, and Regulus catches himself grinning from ear to ear.

James fucks into him with constructed chaos, one hand gripped tight around his waist while
the other holds his throat. He doesn’t squeeze, careful not to lose control where it matters, but
the promise is there. And Regulus has never been so fucking full, so possessed. His insides
are molten, threatening to spill over.
“God, you take me so perfect,” he hears James say; it draws him back into his body and down
from the pleasure haze. “So wet and hot and tight, baby. Better than I even imagined.”

Regulus preens from the praise. The fingers digging into his skin will bruise; he can feel how
James hangs on a little tighter with each thrust. And because he’s figured out what it is that
makes James tick, he goes for the jugular. Lets honey drip from every word when he says,
“No one fills me like you do, daddy. No one feels as good as you.”

“Fuck,” James groans, hips stuttering before his rhythm settles again. “Keep talking like that
and I’ll come.”

“Inside, right?”

“I shouldn’t—”

“I’ve never let anyone else do it,” continues Regulus, voice still saccharine. James’ rhythm
stutters again, and he knows he’s won. “It’s only you, anyway. I promise. I don’t want anyone
else.”

James slams into him and stills, forehead dropped into the curve of his shoulder. “You’re
doing this on purpose.”

“Yes.”

“I—Damn it, I should’ve asked. If you—But I just want you so bad. I wasn’t thinking, and
—”

“You have me.” Regulus wriggles his hips, all of him aching now that James has stopped. It
earns him a low groan, and before he can process, James has pulled out of him and flipped
him on his back. He yelps, bound hands smarting when his whole weight lands on his wrists.

But then James has his hips pulled up off the bed, is easing back into him with a guttural
moan, and Regulus grins with all of his teeth. James looks as wrecked as he feels—flushed,
golden skin sweat-slicked and radiating heat, curls stuck to his forehead.

“Hi,” Regulus says softly, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. He’s suddenly shy under
James’ gaze. It pins him, like a butterfly with its wings spread, and his breath hitches in his
throat.

“Hi, baby.” James leans over him, cups his cheek, kisses him slow and deep. He moans into
it, and James swallows the sound eagerly. “God, you look so thoroughly fucked right now.”

Regulus sticks out his tongue, giggling when James licks at it with his own. “I wonder why.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re not done yet. Brief intermission.” James sits back on his haunches, hoists
Regulus’ ankles over his shoulders, and gives no warning before he’s moving hard and fast
again. His fingers dig into Regulus’ hips to hold them up, to keep him from shifting away.

Not that he would if he could. He holds the duvet in a vice grip underneath him even with his
wrists bound. Withered sounds rip from his throat with each harder, deeper thrust. They’re
steady, and he feels each one in his teeth.

When James slows to kiss him, to suck bruises into his throat and murmur praise all the
while, Regulus realizes that this—something he’s always found too intimate—feels better
than anything he’s ever had. And he loves it. Loves the way James can kiss his lips and chest
and the inside of his thighs. Loves the way he’s on display and every inch is cherished
regardless.

He catches glimpses of James’ tattoo as he moves, the sharp tips and edges of it shifting over
hard muscle, but James moves too fast for him to make out details. Besides, Regulus is too
delirious to make any sense of what it is he’s looking at.

James adjusts the angle of his hips, and Regulus cries out with the sudden shock of it.
Pleasure rips through him. “So pretty, baby,” James murmurs into the inside of his thigh. He
hits the same spot, each thrust deliberate. “Come if you want. I’m close.”

“Then don’t stop,” is all Regulus can manage as his vision blurs. He wants to ask James to
touch him, but he’s not sure he’ll need it. James is good at this; he knows what he’s found
and keeps at it. Understands harder doesn’t mean faster, and yes, right there means don’t you
dare fucking change what you’re doing.

Regulus’ orgasm creeps up on him until it doesn’t, and suddenly he’s hurtled towards the
edge faster than he can process. He comes with a strangled shout, fire rushing through him
right to his toes and fingertips. His throat is hoarse from too much use and abuse, but
somewhere in it all, he says James’ name. Says it again and again, until James kisses him
silent.

The kiss loses rhythm along with James’ hips. He sinks his teeth into the taut muscle of
Regulus’ shoulder, shudders, and spills deep inside him with a broken groan. It’s a warmth
sudden and foreign; he didn’t lie to James—he never lets anyone have this. And maybe, if
tonight had been different, he wouldn’t have let James have it, either.

But even through the haze of all the pleasure, he remembers: I think I’m going to end up
falling in love with you.

He can’t be as honest and open with his words, but he hopes, somehow, James understands.
It’s in the way he runs his fingers through sweaty curls after James undoes the knot binding
his wrists. It’s in the way he kisses James lazy and soft in the aftermath, ankles crossed at his
lower back to hold him deep as their bodies come together.

Stay, please, stay close to me, he wants to say. He just doesn’t know how.

“Feels nice,” James murmurs, closing his eyes while Regulus continues to run fingers
through his hair. “How do you feel?”

“Good. Really good.” Regulus moves to run his nails gently up and down James’ back.
“You?”

“Can’t really think yet.”

Regulus laughs softly. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

It’s a few more minutes of this before James pulls out of him with a hiss. He flops on his
back, an arm pillowed under his head and his eyes dazed. His glasses are slightly askew.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters, running a hand over his face and up under his glasses. “That
was…”

Regulus rolls onto his stomach and rests his chin on his fist. “Worth the wait?”

“And then some. Shit.” James grins, chuckling, and stretches his arms above his head. He
laughs harder when he catches Regulus watching him shamelessly. “You’re objectifying me
again.”

“I’m convinced you were made to be objectified. It’s not my fault.”

James settles with his arm under his head again and reaches out to flick Regulus’ nose gently.
“We should shower. We reek of sex and champagne.”

“Walking to the shower sounds terrible.”

“Aha.” James’ grin stretches wide, and he shifts to lie on his side, cheek resting on his fist.
“Sorry, are you telling me your legs don’t work? Is this the same man who said, and I quote,
‘Guys like you aren’t even that great in bed. All bark and no bite.’”

Regulus gapes at him. “You remember that?”

“How could I forget it? That was the night I knew I wanted you so bad I’d do anything to
have you.” James shrugs one shoulder, smiling wider. “I’ve never had anyone look me in the
eye over dinner and say they think I have a big dick that I don’t know how to use. It was…
weirdly hot. Like a compliment and insult rolled into one.”

“Oh, my God. You’re—You’re ridiculous.”

“So? Be honest with me, baby. Do I know how to use it or not?” James snickers when
Regulus shoves his shoulder. “Oh, come on. Humor me. I’m asking so nicely.”

“As if you need your ego stroked.”

James winks, and Regulus fights the urge to put him in a chokehold. “It only matters if it’s
you, though. I like to know what you’re thinking.” He pushes up on his elbow to loom over
Regulus, one brow quirked. Regulus falls back on the bed, breath stuttering at the gentle
touch of a hand on his outer thigh. “You should wear stockings more often. Your legs are so
lovely.”

“Stop,” he mutters, a blush high on his cheeks. “You’re being sweet because you want your
ego fed.”

“Never. I’m being sweet because I want to eat you up.” James ducks his head, burying his
face in Regulus’ neck. “Mm. Smells like…sex.”
“Oh, come off it.” Regulus shoves at James’ chest, scowling when he laughs loud and bright.
He’s practically cackling, clearly pleased. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and
gets to his feet, stretching again—and it puts his entire tattoo is on display. “Oh.”

James looks over his shoulder, expression quizzical. “Hm?”

“Your tattoo. It’s…”

“Oh. Yeah. I forgot you haven’t seen it.” James sits back down and pats his shoulder for
Regulus to shuffle over. “Stag antlers.”

“A strange choice,” Regulus murmurs, running his fingers over the delicate linework. The
antlers branch out from mid spine, the tips curved around his shoulders. They’re lifelike,
incredibly detailed, with flowers on a vine wrapped around where they meet. “Why?”

James lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you someday,
yeah? I was young when I got it, though. I barely remember.”

“Yeah. Yeah, me too.” Regulus traces over the tattoo a little while longer before James braces
his hands on his knees and pushes to his feet.

“Alright. Shower. Let’s go, love.”

Regulus drops his hand between his thighs, pouting. “Carry me. My legs are sore.”

“Oh, hell. The drama.” James rolls his eyes, but still waves a hand for Regulus to shift so he
can pick him up properly. “Come on, Princess. Your shower awaits.”

“Princess?” asks Regulus with a tilt of his head.

James blinks, brow furrowed. “Oh. Just kinda…slipped out. You don’t like it? I’m sorry, I
didn’t—”

“It’s fine.” Regulus’ stomach swoops when James hooks an arm around his waist and hauls
him off the bed. His legs wrap around James’ middle easily. “I like it. ‘Princess.’ It’s… Yeah.
I like it. We’ll talk about it another day, but it’s fine. Call me whatever.”

James gives him an odd look but doesn’t press. He carries Regulus into their bathroom and
sets him on the edge of the ridiculously large tub. While he fiddles with nozzles until hot
water sprays out, Regulus rolls the stockings off his legs and pulls the tight top over his head.

“I love it, by the way,” James says, nodding to the discarded lingerie. “The whole set was
incredible. I probably should’ve appreciated it more, but…”

“It’s not the only one I brought.” Regulus gets to his feet and follows James into the shower.
It’s more than big enough for two people, and water hits from almost every angle. Whatever
nozzle James found, it’s definitely not the one Regulus twisted earlier. “I have more at home,
too.”
James groans, rolling his shoulders under the spray. “Will you show them to me? When we’re
back in London?”

“Maybe.”

“Hey.”

“Yes,” Regulus says with a laugh. Hot water washes over him, loosening his muscles. His
thighs ache, and his shoulders are sore. He leans into it, though. “I’ll show you all of it, if you
want.”

“Oh, I want. I very much want.”

James pulls him close, an arm around his waist and a hand cupping his jaw. They kiss lazily
under the shower spray; there’s no real purpose to it except that they can. Music still plays in
the bedroom, low and bass-heavy. It’s a while before James pulls back and reaches over
Regulus’ head for the body wash and a loofah.

He hums, content, when James scrubs gently at his skin. His head falls back, a small smile
playing on his lips. “Feels good,” he murmurs, lifting each arm for James to scrub from wrist
to shoulder.

“Definitely a princess,” mutters James, though there’s no bite in it. He’s gentle with the
loofah over Regulus’ chest, careful not to snag the piercings in his nipples. Then it’s down
over his abdomen, around his waist. “Turn, baby.”

He braces his hands on the shower wall while James scrubs the back of his neck, between his
shoulders, down his spine.

“Your tattoo,” James says, fingertips tripping over each vertebrae. “What does it mean?”

Regulus swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. “It’s… It’s for Sirius.” He drops his
head, eyes squeezed tightly shut. “When we were growing up, he had this crazy fascination
with space. We’re named after stars. His is in Canis Major, and mine is in Leo. He thought it
was the coolest thing. Anyway, I wanted our constellations, but I—I couldn’t. It was too
much.”

“So you chose the solar system?”

“Something like that. I picked his favorite planets. He always liked the sun, too. He thought it
was cool the whole galaxy rotated around it. There are a few stars for us. Nothing particular,
but… Yeah.”

James hangs the loofah back on its hook. “When did you get it?”

“A few years ago. But it’s a story for another day.” Regulus straightens, rolling his shoulders.
He steps back into James’ chest and drops his head against his shoulder. Their skin is
slippery. Everything smells of citrus. “You know,” he says with a teasing lilt, “it was only
twice.”
James nibbles on his ear, and there’s a questioning grumble against his back.

“You told me once you’d make me come three times…”

“Ah. That.” James grips his hips to spin him, presses his back to the wall and gets strong
hands under his thighs. He yelps in surprise when he’s lifted off the ground and held up
against the cold tile. James’ arms hook under his knees, his hold strong despite their slippery
skin. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“I vaguely remember it,” Regulus hedges. It’s punctuated with a gasp when the head of
James’ cock eases into him, guided by a steady hand. “Oh, fuck. God, that feels good.”

James ducks his head to nose at Regulus’ curls, lips on his ear when he whispers, “You know,
you’re still full of my cum. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“No. No,” Regulus moans, head falling back against the shower wall. “Definitely not. Please,
James, I—”

“Come on, love. That’s not what you call me when you’re like this.”

Regulus whimpers at the slow drag of James’ cock against his rim. It’s a slight burn until the
mess coating his insides eases the slide—and then he’s done for. “Yes, yes, yes,” he mumbles,
already incoherent. “More, daddy, please.”

“Better. You’re learning.”

It’s a heady mix of rough and gentle when James gets going, his hands braced on the shower
wall to hold Regulus aloft. He whispers a string of praise in his ear. Alternates between
kissing him with tongue and teeth, and sucking bruises into his neck.

It takes less time than Regulus expected for him to feel the telltale warmth in his spine, the
tightening in his gut. He reaches between them to take his own length in hand, stroking
gently but losing rhythm when James finds what he’s looking for. Regulus breaks like a wave
on the shore and comes with his eyes wide open, shivering despite the heat of the water
hitting them both.

“Beautiful,” James murmurs, burying himself to the hilt before he stills.

Regulus ducks his head, face pressed into James’ neck and a low moan in his throat. He
might become addicted to this intimacy, the need. He considers admitting it out loud, but
before he gets the chance, the shower runs suddenly cold and James yelps.

“We’ve been in here too long,” he muses, pulling out of Regulus and setting him gently on
his feet. “My fingers are all wrinkly. Look.”

“I believe you.” Regulus bats James’ hand away, grinning despite himself.

James shrugs on a bathrobe and ties the sash around his middle when they step out of the
shower stall. “Want something to eat? I can order room service. I think they serve until
midnight.”
“Do you think they can bring me chocolate cake?”

“Huh?” James pauses in the doorway to shoot an incredulous look over his shoulder. “You
want chocolate cake? At midnight?”

Regulus glares, tying his own sash. “Problem?”

“No. No, it’s just random. But whatever you want. I’ll call them.”

Their room service arrives shortly before midnight. James ordered pasta and bread for
himself and a single slice of chocolate cake for Regulus. They settle on the couch together—
James at one end with his plate on a tray, and Regulus at the other with his legs pulled close
to his chest. He balances the plate of chocolate cake on his knees, grinning with each bite.

“Ridiculous,” James mutters with a laugh and shake of his head. “That’s not even real food!”

“It’s good,” argues Regulus, taking another bite. “Plus, I like sweets after really good sex.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. But this is the first time in a long, long time that I’ve craved chocolate cake after
sex.” Regulus grins with the fork between his teeth, chuckling when James shoots him a sour
look. “Why the face? It’s a compliment.”

James’ scowl deepens. “Do you know how much it took out of me to stay calm when you
told me you were fucking Colin?”

“Connor.”

“Baby,” he warns.

“Sorry.” Regulus stabs his cake again, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.
The chocolate is rich, but not too much. “I mean it, though. About sweets after sex. That’s as
much ego stroking as I’ll do.”

James snorts. “How thoughtful.”

“And you? How’s your pasta?”

“Good. Italians do it best.” James swirls noodles around his fork, adds, “And it’s replenishing
my strength.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll need the energy. Did you think we were done?”

Regulus blinks several times, stomach flipping. His heart skips at the crooked, devilish way
James grins at him.

“It’s cute you thought we were.”

“So is that how the rest of our weekend will go?” Regulus stretches out one leg to slip his toe
under the hem of James’ robe. “Just food and fucking?”

“Among other things. But finish your cake.”

They eat in comfortable silence for a little while, breaking it here and there to chat until
James has finished his pasta and Regulus declares he’s done with his cake. He settles back
against the cushions with his feet in James’ lap. James rubs at the arches, snickering when he
moans with as much pleasure as when James was inside him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” asks James after some time. He runs his knuckle down
Regulus’ arch. “Your parents, I mean. The shit that happened earlier.”

He doesn’t, but at the same time, he does. James asks with a genuine mix of care and
curiosity. Something about it prompts Regulus to say, “Maman is scared.” He’s surprised at
his own honesty, at how easily the admission slips out. “I know…things. About our family.
The business. I wasn’t supposed to ever find out, but I was in the right place at the right
time.”

James continues running his knuckles up and down the arch of Regulus’ foot, waiting.

“I—I need to know you won’t say a word,” whispers Regulus, heart in his throat. “About any
of it. I trust you, I do, but…”

“I promise. But is it really that bad?”

Regulus inhales deep into his lungs. On the exhale, he says, “Embezzlement.”

James stills. “I’m sorry?”

“Embezzlement. Money laundering. Insider trading…” Now that it’s coming out, he can’t
stop it. He stares up at the high ceilings even though he doesn’t really see them. The words
pour out of him and with each one, a weight lifts. “All of it. Tax evasion. Shit with hedge
funds. But embezzlement is the main one. And I—I could bring it all down, James. Destroy
the entire Black line. Lestranges, too. Malfoys, I’m sure.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Baby, that’s… That’s serious shit.”

Regulus closes his eyes with a sigh. “I think it’s why they want me to come home even more
than Sirius. He was already gone by the time I learned what they were up to. I’m sure Maman
thinks if they bring me back in and treat me nicely, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“It could involve you, though.”

“I know.”
“What did she promise you? Tonight at the auction, she promised something, didn’t she?”

“Mhm. But nothing really. She’s always hated that I’m queer, so her offer was to let you into
the family.”

James snorts sardonically. “How thoughtful of her.”

“I won’t let it happen. I’m not going back. For myself, and for you. They’d find some way to
wrap you up in it all. Implicate you in their schemes either willingly or unwillingly. They
don’t care about permission.”

After a long silence, James asks, “Will you do it? Tear it all down?”

“I don’t know yet. It’s been five years since I left. I found out a couple weeks beforehand. My
dad beat the hell out of me for snooping.” He lets James tug him down the couch to rub his
calves next. “It’s a bit of a trip, though. To hold this over them. I’m sure it keeps Maman
awake at night.”

“Do you think they’re still doing it all?”

“Oh, definitely. They weren’t ashamed of it. Papa even offered to teach me how. I just left
before he could.”

James sucks his teeth, fingers kneading Regulus’ calves absently. “Well, if you ever want to
take them down, I’ll help you do it. That’s a promise.”

“Maybe someday,” Regulus says softly, still staring up at the ceiling. He doesn’t tell James
that he’s held onto this secret because it feels wrong to tear the entire family down without
Sirius. It’s partly his fortune, too, even if he may not want it any more than Regulus does.

But that would require talking to his brother, which he will not do. It’s easier to make excuses
if he doesn’t know where Sirius is. Then he doesn’t have to admit out loud that he’s terrified
to face his big brother after all that’s happened since he watched Sirius walk out.

“Are you okay with it though?” asks James, yanking him from his thoughts. “If you and I are
together, it’s inevitable we’ll run into them. I can avoid most events, but… The ones I have to
attend, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to see them. I can’t predict when they’ll
show up.”

“No, I’ve run long enough. They know where I am. They’ve known for a long time, it seems.
So I might as well do what I want. Be with who I want. If I have to see them, then so be it.”
Quietly, he adds, “But I’d rather face them with you there than alone.”

James’ hand squeezes his shin, then moves to the inside of his thigh. “But you know you
don’t have to, right? See them, I mean. It can be on your terms.”

“I know. But I’ll be okay.” Regulus shifts, gets his legs underneath him and shuffles across
the couch to bracket James’ hips with his knees. He settles in James’ lap and pushes the robe
open to expose his chest. “Thank you, though,” he murmurs, taking James’ face between his
hands to kiss him soundly. “For understanding. And listening. But please don’t tell. Not until
I’m ready.”

“I won’t. That’s your secret. Not mine.”

They kiss for a while, talking softly about everything and nothing. It’s well past midnight
when James loops his arms around Regulus’ waist and gets to his feet. They leave their
plates, wander out of the living room, and fall into bed in a messy tangle of limbs.

It’s more kissing, more wandering hands, until James fumbles around on the nightstand for
the tiny bottle Regulus set aside earlier. He lets James take him apart with gentle, coaxing
fingers. It’s surprisingly tender, and James swallows every sound he makes.

After, Regulus lies with his head on James’ chest, tracing patterns with the tip of his finger. “I
might wake up at a weird time. I don’t usually sleep through the night.”

“S’Fine,” James says, yawning. He pulls off his glasses and sets them on the nightstand. His
arm loops around Regulus’ shoulders to hold him close, fingertips trailing delicately up and
down his bicep. “Just wake me up if you can’t sleep.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t sleep much either.”

It doesn’t take long for James to drift off to sleep. The rise and fall of his chest evens out, and
his breathing deepens. The arm around Regulus’ shoulder slackens, but it doesn’t fall away.
For a while, he worries his insomnia will rear its ugly head and he won’t sleep at all, even
here in the warmth of James’ embrace.

But for the first time in a long, long time, Regulus’ thoughts aren’t racing. He wonders—
about his parents, his brother, this thing he and James are nurturing—but nothing takes over.
His mind is…quiet.

Delightfully, blissfully, beautifully quiet.

And between one blink and the next, Regulus drifts off to sleep with an arm around James’
middle and their legs tangled together beneath the sheets.
 now it’s back to the intro, back to the bar
Chapter Notes

happy birthday James Potter, you would've loved silly socks and riding a Ducati through
Italy <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus doesn’t know what time it is when he stirs. The sun has barely risen above the city
line, but it still paints their room in a soft orange and yellow glow.

His head rests on James’ chest, and he can hear a strong, rhythmic heartbeat. This alone is
enough to nearly lull him back to sleep. But even with James warm and solid beside him, he’s
too awake now. He sighs, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from his eyes.

Shifting slightly, he looks up to take in James’ parted lips and relaxed expression. He’s fast
asleep, each breath a soft snore. His legs are tangled in the sheets they deemed not ruined, but
at some point, one or both of them kicked at the bedding. It puts the entirety of James’ naked
body on display, his skin golden in the soft light of early morning.

Regulus trails fingertips down the center of James’ sternum, his abdomen. Stops at his belly
button and smirks when muscles twitch under the featherlight touch. James makes a quiet
noise when Regulus repeats the motion, slipping lower this time, but he doesn’t wake.

Careful not to jostle him, Regulus grabs the discarded bottle of lube near his pillow. He pops
the cap, flinching at the sharp click. Despite it, James doesn’t stir. He has an arm thrown out
behind Regulus, the other bent up on his pillow near his temple. His palm is upturned, and his
fingers twitch every so often.

With painful slowness, Regulus moves to kneel between James’ thighs. His legs are splayed
out, one bent at the knee. For the first time ever, Regulus is thankful rather than irritated he’s
with a man who sleeps like a starfish.

He warms cold liquid between his fingers. Bites the inside of his cheek to keep quiet when he
reaches back to circle his entrance. It’s tender but still loose, and he slips one finger in with
ease. It’s a fight to swallow the moan in his throat. His fingers are slimmer than James’, and
they’re almost a disappointment after last night.

Almost.

Pleasure curls around his spine as he slowly fingers himself open. He follows the inside of
James’ thigh with a steady hand. Bends forward to nose at the divot where James’ leg meets
his groin. He hums low in his throat, no longer interested in letting James sleep through this.
James comes to in stages. First with a quiet, low noise, then with mumbled, slurred Spanish.
He searches for Regulus beside him, rubbing at his eyes. “Baby? Where—?”

Regulus shifts forward to blow warm breath over the base of James’ cock. It lies soft against
his stomach, no more awake than he is.

“Reg? What are you—Oh. Oh, fuck, Regulus.”

James moans deep in his chest; it’s a broken sound thick with sleep. It turns to something
needier when Regulus rolls one of James’ balls around on his tongue before he switches to do
the same to the other. James’ legs spasm, his knees drawn up slightly so he can dig his heels
into the mattress.

“Good morning to me,” he marvels, squirming when Regulus digs nails into the inside of his
thigh. He runs the flat of his tongue from the base of James’ rapidly filling length to the tip,
collecting a small bead of clear liquid with a throaty moan. “Oh, that’s—that’s heaven.”

Unbridled glee unfurls behind Regulus’ ribs. He watches from underneath his lashes, pleased
when James pushes up on his elbows for a better view. His eyes, no longer clouded with
sleep, darken at the sight of Regulus kneeling between his thighs.

It’s slower than last night. Regulus is in control now, and he makes sure James knows it.
When his hips buck up for more, Regulus’ nails dig into the inside of his thigh until he hisses.
And when he drops back on the pillow, mumbling in a nonsensical Spanglish mess, Regulus
gives him nothing but lazy, unhurried licks to the head of his leaking cock.

It isn’t until James starts to beg, to mumble please, baby, I can’t take this, that Regulus
swallows him down without warning. It’s a startled shout, a string of swears, then a pleasure-
laced groan.

“That mouth, baby, lo haces tan bien que I can’t—” James laughs at his own slip, but it shifts
into a moan when Regulus pulls off of him with a soft pop. “Agh, no puedo pensar en nada
mas.”

Bracing one hand on the bed for balance, Regulus pushes a second finger into himself. The
sounds he makes are low, filled with pleasure and vibrating through his throat. He glances up
to see wild hazel eyes flitting between where his tongue runs lazily through the slit of James’
cock, and where his fingers disappear into his own body.

“Fucking hell. Se siente tan bien que—God, baby, look at you. You’re gorgeous.” James
reaches down to brush an errant curl from Regulus’ forehead. His fingers trace around the
shape of Regulus’ mouth, and he says lowly, “Tu boca me vuelve loco. Did you know that?”

Regulus hollows his cheeks, quirking a brow. He pulls off slowly, then grazes his teeth down
James’ shaft. “No, because I don’t speak Spanish. I never know what you’re on about.”

“Too bad.” James’ grin goes a bit crooked. He looks blissed out, eyes glazed over with lust.
“I can say the dirtiest things to you and you’ll just…never know.”
“That’s not fair. Say them in English.”

“Why should I?”

In lieu of a proper reply, Regulus swallows James all the way to the back of his throat. It
earns him a choked groan, another fucking hell, that’s good. He loses himself in this—in the
feel of James hot and heavy on his tongue, and in the building pleasure of his own fingers
curling deep.

His jaw aches by the time James mumbles in a panic, “Baby, I’m—Esperate, esperate, espe—
Wait, wait, c’mere, shit.” There’s an urgent hand in his curls, tugging. He whines at the loss
of something on his tongue when James drags him up by his hair.

“I wasn’t done,” he snaps, eyes narrowed.

James is flushed a lovely crimson shade that colors his cheeks and chest. “I know, but I
wanted this instead.”

Still pouting but not entirely displeased, Regulus lets James shift his hips back. The pressure
of a blunt head against his rim pulls a needy whine from his throat, and he inhales a shaky
breath when it’s guided into him slow, slow—

“Relax, love. I know you can take it.”

He buries his face in James’ neck to lick at his Adam’s apple, his pulse point. Strong hands
guide Regulus’ hips down inch by inch by inch, until he’s fully seated. It’s an exquisite
stretch, a slight burn, but at James’ gentle coaxing, he melts until all he feels is full.

“So good,” James murmurs in his ear. “You are so, so good for me.”

He urges Regulus’ hips forward, mumbling praise into his shoulder. This time is gentler;
there’s no frantic rush like last night. Regulus hides soft, breathy noises in James’ neck. His
cock is trapped between their bodies, the friction not enough to bring him to the edge but still
a taste of something sweet.

He plants his hands on James’ chest, fingers curled into hard muscle. His nails leave behind
little crescents. The clock on the nightstand reads 7:29 a.m., but even without it, Regulus
would know this early morning hour simply by the way James moves inside him.

It’s with slow, smooth rolls of his hips, each stroke deep and languid. They meet in the
middle, and James watches with an intensity that turns Regulus inside out from the heat of it.

James seems to wake fully in these liminal moments. He pushes up on one hand and circles
an arm around Regulus’ waist, maneuvering their bodies to get his knees underneath him. It
pushes him deeper, shifts the angle, and Regulus whimpers into the curve of his shoulder,
toes curling in the messy sheets.

He tries to move faster, to plant his feet and use the leverage to search for more—of James, of
friction, of that fullness, of anything, but James’ arm tightens around his middle to hold them
flush together.
“Easy, baby. Slow down,” he says into Regulus’ curls with a faint laugh. “We don’t have to
rush.”

“I know, but this—this feels so good.” He drops his head back, and James latches onto his
throat. He rolls his hips, finding friction in the heat and hard planes of James’ stomach. It’s
all he can do with James’ arm looped so tightly around his waist. It keeps them close, a fire
building slowly.

Without warning, James adjusts again. He lays Regulus down with his head at the foot of the
bed, murmurs, “I should be gentle with you,” and looms over him with a crooked grin. “But I
don’t think you want that. Do you, Princess?”

Regulus breathes a soft, “Oh,” and shakes his head so violently his brain rattles in his skull.
Words die on his tongue when James grips his chin. It’s the curl of strong fingers, of a kiss
that wipes his mind clean of anything other than James James James James—

Almost as if in acquiescence, James hooks his arms under Regulus’ knees, all but bends him
in half, and—yes. Regulus huffs a pleased little laugh, grinning from ear to ear. This is what
he wanted; something fast and greedy and wild. Two fingers pushed past his lips that he can
take eagerly between his teeth.

James swears under his breath, one hand fisted in the sheets near Regulus’ head. It doesn’t
take long; James finds what he’s looking for. He chuckles with his teeth sunk into the soft
inside of a slender thigh when Regulus cries out. Stars burst behind his eyelids, and fire
builds steadily in his spine. James doesn’t let up.

“You’re so pretty when you break,” he murmurs, pushing his fingers down on Regulus’
tongue. “Show me.”

He claws at James’ shoulders; it splits skin, draws a quiet hiss. Pleasure rips through him
when the fingers in his mouth slip away to wrap around his cock. His stomach tightens, but
he thinks, not yet, not yet, not yet, even as he hurtles to the edge.

“Regulus,” James murmurs in his ear, so soft and reverent he shivers. “You can come.” His
voice dips lower when he adds, “You take me like a damn dream, baby. So pretty like this.”

Regulus breaks like a vase thrown on marble floors. His back bows, and his vision goes
white. Thick ropes stripe his abdomen, more warmth on his already burning skin. He’s still
floating when James follows after with a strangled groan and buries himself to the hilt.

Except for the sounds of their breathing, the aftermath is silent. Regulus’ blood pounds an
unsteady rhythm in his ears. James isn’t much better off—he’s sweat-slicked, and scratches
mar his shoulders. Muscles expand and contract under his skin while he tries to catch his
breath. It puffs hot against Regulus’ throat.

“Good morning,” whispers Regulus, a bit shy. His fingers brush through James’ sweaty curls.
“How’d you sleep?”

“Bloody fantastic, actually.” James breathes deep, exhaling with a low groan. “You?”
“Better than I have in a while.”

“Good.” He peppers kisses along Regulus’ collarbone to the hollow of his throat before
pulling away. At Regulus’ protest, he grins. “I’m not going anywhere, love. I want to try
something.”

“But—”

“Hush.”

Regulus’ mouth snaps shut; he doesn’t have the energy to argue. But he still grumbles his
displeasure when James leaves him empty, only to yelp in surprise at the soft, teasing press of
a thumb to his abused rim. “James?” he asks apprehensively.

There’s no reply, but James settles between Regulus’ thighs on his knees. His brow creases,
then he says, “Lie on your stomach.”

“Why? What are you going to do?”

“Find your limit.”

Regulus’ breath catches in his chest. Swallowing, he turns onto his stomach, wincing when
his spent cock brushes soft linen. He sends another silent apology to the hotel for ruining
their sheets so terribly, but all thought leaves him when James’ hand curves around the back
of his thigh to pin him down.

Again, he asks, “James?”

“Not right now.”

Oh.

He exhales sharply and pillows his chin on his forearms. Outside their room, the city of
Milan wakes little by little. The sun is higher now; it bathes everything in a brighter glow,
and he’s all too aware of how on display he is. It makes him squirm, hot under his skin, but
James’ hand tightens on his thigh.

“You’re so full of me,” James says, almost reverent. He pushes one finger and then a second
into Regulus, chuckling at the startled noise that crawls out of his throat. It’s an easy slide to
the last knuckle. “So wet, too.”

Regulus aches, overstimulated to a point where pleasure slips into pain slips into pleasure
slips into—

“You were made for me, weren’t you?” James’ fingers curl down, and Regulus writhes like
he’s been electrocuted.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” he mumbles nonsensically, eyes squeezed tightly shut. “It’s too—
I’m not—”
James’ fingers still inside him. “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop, love.”

They both know Regulus won’t.

Instead, he pushes his hips back, gasps, “Keep going,” and buries his face in the curve of his
elbow.

Before he can manage a full breath, James splays a hand flat over his lower back and fingers
him with the same eager greediness as when they fuck. It’s relentless, and he doesn’t let up
even when Regulus’ muscles tighten like coiled springs.

The release is violent; his body isn’t on board with this even as he breaks into a thousand
pieces on fingers that don’t stop, that keep moving. It’s too much, the overstimulation a
terrible, wonderful thing. Tears prick the corners of his eyes, blurring Milan in the distance,
and his skin stretches thin over his bones.

When the high ebbs, he tries to scramble away from James’ merciless fingers, chest heaving
and stomach sticky with cum and sweat, but he doesn’t make it very far before there’s a hand
around his ankle, its grip a vice. It drags him from the edge of the bed and back within
James’ reach.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks in a low tone, fingers sliding easily into Regulus
once more. “I’m not finished with you. Not even close.”

“Oh, God. Oh—” Regulus sobs into his elbow, canting his hips up to ease the friction on his
overstimulated cock. But the hand on his back forces him down again. There’s a live wire
under his skin; it jolts each time James’ fingertips brush the bundle of nerves inside him.

“I’ll win this too, love. I won’t stop until you tell me to.”

Regulus doesn’t. He crests another wave, writhing, and wonders when his body will give up.
No one has ever done this to him. He’s never even done it to himself. He doesn’t know his
own limit. How much can he take? How much can he give? Not that there’s anything left
except tears on his cheeks and desperate, needy whines in his throat.

“One more for me?” asks James, leaning over him with a hand braced near his head. James’
words are gentle, coaxing. His kisses on Regulus’ shoulders are even gentler, and his tongue
maps constellations out of freckles.

“Yes,” Regulus concedes, biting into his forearm with another choked sob. “Daddy, please.”

He wants to win. Oh, he does. He wants James to complain his wrist has cramped or his
fingers don’t work or he’s no longer interested in this game, but it’s Regulus who breaks first.
Who begs James to stop, to let him breathe. His throat is dry, his voice hoarse. He’s been split
open and turned inside out.

It’s a horrible emptiness when James’ fingers slip out of him. The cleft of his ass and insides
of his thighs are a mess of James’ cum, of spit and lube. He crawls away to turn on his back
and close his legs, chest heaving. His fingertips are numb, and his toes tingle. “God,” he
breathes, unsteady. “What are you?”

James crawls over him, grinning from ear to ear. “A winner.”

“Oh, fuck off.” But Regulus doesn’t have the strength to fight. He laughs instead; it echoes
off the high ceilings, hysterical. “No one has ever got me off like that. Fucking hell.”

He wipes at his eyes with the backs of his hands; wetness clings to his lashes, clumps them
together. Some greedy, insatiable part of him wants more, but the rest is so far past his limit
his very bones are exhausted.

James sucks his teeth, settling back against the headboard. “Are you serious?” he asks. “No
one’s ever done that to you before?”

“Most guys get one orgasm and consider themselves Olympic medalists.”

“Amateurs. One isn’t even enough to put you on the podium. That’s foreplay. Two will get
you bronze. Three isn’t bad. That’s silver.”

Regulus drops his hands to glare at the man sat against the headboard. He’s bent one leg so
he can rest his elbow on his knee, and he regards Regulus with haughty amusement.

“And you?” Regulus asks. “What exactly do you think you won?”

James winks, his grin stretched wide. “Baby, you know I just won gold.”

“Ugh, your ego is fucking huge.”

James’ eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs. It’s annoyingly endearing. “Admit it, and
I’ll draw you a bath. I’ll even put the little bubbles and smelling salts in. Whatever you
want.” He crawls over Regulus again, ducking his head to graze his lips along Regulus’ jaw.
“Come on, Princess,” he whispers. “Let me hear you say it.”

“You are so annoying,” Regulus hisses, pushing at James’ chest. It earns him another cackle,
more tender kisses along his jaw. “Fine. Fine. You won gold, you egotistical ass.”

“Wonderful. That was music to my ears.”

“Ugh, get off. You’re heavy.”

“Not really. You just have all the strength of a gnat right now.” James laughs again when
Regulus beats fists against his chest. “Alright, alright. I’m going. Breakfast requests?”

Regulus melts into the sheets; his limbs are no better than cooked noodles. He watches James
slide off the bed, muscles shifting deliciously under his skin. It almost—almost—makes
Regulus call him back. But then he grabs his robe off the floor, shrugs it on, and glances over
his shoulder with that cheeky, knowing grin.

“Bastard,” Regulus mutters, turning to the ceiling.

“Requests?”

“Pancakes. With blueberries.”

“In the batter or on the side?”

“Both.”

James slips on his glasses, says, “You got it,” and disappears into the bathroom whistling a
cheery tune.

After Regulus hears the tub start, then the shower, he rolls over onto his stomach to grab his
phone off the nightstand. He scrolls through his notifications, pausing only when he reaches
the group chat with his friends.

There are 639 unread messages.

He rolls onto his back again with a slight wince. When he opens the chat, it’s to find absolute
chaos—and that Barty has once again changed the name, much to everyone’s chagrin.

Mr. James F. Potter’s (VERY WILLING) Harem

Regulus
Why do I have 639 messages?
And what’s with the name?
Someone explain. I’m too tired to read all that.

Barty
HELLOOOO REGULUS
Why are you tired? Couldn’t sleep? ;)
Anyway I have an important question
How much to let me fuck James?

Lily
Ugh. Here we go again.

Regulus
???
Sorry? Are you well?

Barty
Or let him fuck me I’m really not partial
This is a genuine question btw

Regulus
????????
Lily
Evan please take his phone away.
AND BARTY QUIT CHANGING THE GC NAME!!!

Lily changed the chat name to ‘Lesbian Takeover’

Dorcas
#LilyForPrimeMinister

Pandora
Aw let Barty try! It’s cute!

Marlene
But why does it have to be OUR problem?

Regulus
??????????????????

Evan
<1 Video Attached>

Regulus opens the attachment with trepidation; it could be any number of things, though he
has a sneaking suspicion he knows exactly what this will be.

The quality is grainy at best, but Regulus would know the shape of his father anywhere.
And… James? Which can only mean one thing: this is the video from last night. There’s no
sound, but it’s obvious Orion and James are not exchanging pleasantries.

Not even close.

Orion puffs out his chest to make himself broader, taller, but James has a few inches on him.
He’s young and agile. It makes a difference when seemingly out of nowhere, Orion pulls his
elbow back and swings. It’s a well-aimed right hook, but James ducks it easily, his motions
smooth and fluid as he uses the momentum to return Orion’s punch with a nasty uppercut. It
knocks Orion’s head back and sends him sprawling.

“Holy shit,” Regulus whispers, unable to look away.

James follows Orion down to the floor in the middle of the crowded ballroom. With one hand
balled in the front of his expensive suit, James throws punch after punch. Orion tries to throw
him off, but James puts all of his weight on Orion’s chest.

Regulus’ father doesn’t stand a chance.

It takes two security guards to haul James off and one more to keep Orion from following
after him. They’re practically spitting at one another. Then Orion really does spit blood on
the floor before he’s hauled away. The video ends with James shrugging the guards off. He
fixes his jacket, smooths out the front, and lets himself be led through the front doors.
Regulus watches the video again. And again. And again. What did James say to make his
father put his whole back into that right hook? Regulus has been victim to it many times; it
would’ve blackened James’ eye for days had it landed. Might’ve even cracked bone if the
angle was right.

His phone buzzes with more incoming messages.

Evan
Barty wants to marry him.
Just a heads up.

Barty
No I want REG to marry him
I just want him on the weekends
Come on you know you do too!

Evan
…
No comment.

Regulus
Is this what you spent 600+ messages going on about?

Dorcas
Welcome to our hell
We’ve missed you Reggie <3
How’s Milan? Everything OK with your parents?

Regulus
Yeah I’m fine. A little spooked.
But James and I talked about it. We’re good.

Lily
That’s good! Do you have plans for today?
He’d better treat you to something nice after last night

Pandora
Louis V is nice :)

Marlene
His bank account can do better than ‘nice.’
Aim higher Reggie. Make him work for it.

Regulus
Prada? Gucci? Versace?
Barty
QUIT DISTRACTING THEM I NEED ANSWERS
Okay be honest on a scale of 1-10…
I need to know.

Lily
You literally do not need to know.
NONE of us need to know.

Marlene
We’ll leave the chat.

Barty
Reg I’m your best friend
Isn’t there a rule about this?
Don’t girls always share sex details?

Evan
Just tell him Reg
He won’t stop until you do
And I want to enjoy my Saturday in peace

Regulus
Fine. But DO NOT tell James I said this.
His ego is big enough.
Ok… if sex was an Olympic sport?
Gold. In ALL events.

Barty
Oh my god I think I just came

Marlene has left the chat

Lily has left the chat
Dorcas has left the chat

Barty
Come on!!
Pandora are you still with us?

Pandora
Out of solidarity…

Pandora has left the chat

Regulus bursts out laughing at the same time as James steps into the room. There’s a white
towel wrapped low on his hips, and water drips from the ends of his curls onto his bare
shoulders.
“What’s so funny?” he asks, kneeling on the edge of the bed. He tugs Regulus by his ankles.

“Look. My friends sent it.”

James squints at the screen, a frown creasing his forehead. “Is that…?”

“Oh, yeah.” Regulus grins so wide his cheeks ache. “Not the best quality, but I don’t care.
I’m saving it. It’s going on my ‘Top Ten Hottest James Moments’ list.”

“Sorry, you have a list?”

Regulus lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “I might have…something.”

“What are the other moments? Tell me.” James hooks Regulus’ ankles over his shoulders,
waiting.

Discreetly, Regulus opens the note on his phone. He’ll never show it outright, but he can
indulge James a little after last night. “Number two on the list is our first kiss, when you
picked me up and pushed me against the door.”

James listens intently and mouths at Regulus’ calf. “What else?”

“Hm. Number seven is sort of several moments. It’s the way you always drive with your hand
on my leg.”

“Ah. I do like doing that, yeah.”

“Number one is when you took me to the Lego store.”

James laughs through his nose. “That is your top moment?”

“Yeah, because this is my list.”

“I know, I know. I think it’s cute.” He wraps Regulus’ legs around his waist, circles his arms
under his back, and hauls him up. “God, love. You reek of sex.”

Regulus flicks him between the eyes, scowling. “I wonder why, Mr. Gold Medal.”

“Damn straight. Let’s go, Princess. Your bath awaits,” James says with a soft chuckle when
Regulus flicks him again. “And I need to order us breakfast before I start eating the
furniture.”

After his bath, Regulus slips on dark jeans and a cropped emerald jumper. The color, along
with black liner he smudges in his waterline, shifts his eyes from dull gray to something
slightly bluer. When he steps into the main room, James’ gaze immediately finds the narrow
strip of skin between his waistband and the hem of his top.

“We’ll discuss it later,” James says curtly into the phone, his jaw clenched tight. He sips
coffee from a mug where he leans against the counter of the suite’s kitchenette. His jeans are
dark, and his long sleeve gray shirt leaves nothing to the imagination. “I know, I know,” he
continues, “but it’ll be fine. Later. I have to go. We’ll talk soon.”

“Who was that?” asks Regulus, tossing his denim jacket over the back of the couch beside
James’ leather one.

“Mm? Oh, Mary. She’s calling about the video. It got to the board.”

“Shit.”

James shrugs, then jerks his chin at the raised counter in front of him. “Sit. Your food is still
warm.” He watches Regulus cross the room, his eyes still locked on the narrow sliver of skin
on display. “You know, it’s really not fair how even simple things look so lovely on you.”

“I can’t say the same considering…” Regulus trails off, looking pointedly at James’ feet.
They sport neon pink socks patterned with yellow rubber ducks. “What is with those?”

“I like them! They make wearing stuffy suits more fun, but now I just wear them all of the
time.”

“I’m not sure what it says about me that I find this attractive.” Regulus tries not to give James
the satisfaction of seeing him wince, but it’s impossible when he eases onto one of the
barstools. “Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t say a damn thing.”

James snorts. “I don’t think I have to. Here.” He sets a plate of blueberry pancakes in front of
Regulus with a smirk. “Eat up. I’ve got plans for us today, and they start in about… Twenty
minutes.”

“Twenty?”

“Not my fault you took the world’s longest bath.”

Regulus flips James his middle finger. “Whatever,” he mumbles around a mouthful of
breakfast. He hadn’t realized just how empty his stomach was until sweet syrup and fluffy
pancakes hit his tongue.

“Eloquent. Anyway, do you want to hear the plans I made? The pre-sex ones. I’m saving
those for later.”

“You already knocked a couple vertebrae loose. What’s a few more, right?” Regulus
deadpans. “Go on, then. I can see you’re dying to tell me.”

“How do you feel about…motorbikes?”

Regulus pauses, fork halfway to his mouth. “Huh?”

“Well, I kinda figured a limo wouldn’t be that fun to explore the city in. And a car is fine, but
I think this will be better. More fun.”

“And ‘this’ is…?”

“A Ducati.”

“Naturally. Of course. James, can you even drive in this country?”

He beams, clearly proud of himself. “You can if you’re licensed properly in the UK. Which I
am. But I also have an international license, so I’m covered either way.”

“I’m not sure why I’m even surprised anymore,” Regulus says with a sigh, popping a fresh
strawberry in his mouth. “I’m fine with it so long as you don’t kill me.”

“Wouldn’t harm a single hair on that pretty head. Have a little faith.”

Regulus scoffs but says nothing.

“Anyway, I’m thinking the Castello Sforzesco to start. We’ll walk around, eat some food,
drink so much wine we’re half-drunk by noon… Sempione Park is nearby. It’s the largest in
Milan, so I’m sure it’ll be busy on a Saturday, but we can find a secluded spot. Lay in the
grass for a bit…”

He trails off, watching Regulus with wide, earnest eyes. In truth, it sounds… Incredible.
Genuine. Like something Regulus might not deserve if he thinks too hard about it.

He’s worked to block last night’s conversations out of his mind for now. He doesn’t want any
of it to cloud their day. This is their little bubble of happiness; nothing can touch them here.
For now, the real world doesn’t have to exist.

But he can’t help but feel, sat here on a barstool while James drinks coffee and he eats
pancakes, like the other shoe will drop when he least expects it. Real life will come crashing
down. Regulus’ family, his missing brother, his past issues—James will tell him it’s all too
much work, too much damn effort. It’s difficult not to spiral.

There are two devils on his shoulder most of the time.

Regulus pops a blueberry in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully while he takes in the man
across from him. His hair is messy, like he’s run his fingers through it too many times and
now it doesn’t know where it belongs. His expression remains open and kind. Honest. But
there’s a mixture of anxiety and excitement in his eyes, and he worries his bottom lip
between his teeth.

The silence has stretched too long. Realizing James is waiting on him, Regulus hastily
swallows the blueberries and replies, “It sounds like the perfect date.” James’ shoulders
visibly relax, and Regulus gives him a small smile. “Is the weather good enough for it?”

“Oh, yeah. We got lucky. It’s pretty warm today for January. I think we’ll be fine. And I can’t
go that fast on city roads, so it’s not like we’ll freeze on the bike.”
“Okay. But quit distracting me so I can finish eating.”

James’ lips twitch, but he ducks to hide his full smile behind his coffee mug. Silence settles
while Regulus finishes his pancakes. James hums along with a reggaetón song playing
through the TV and bobs his head along with the beat.

Regulus can’t help it—he stares. Takes in the relaxed set of James’ shoulders, how he crosses
one ankle over the other and looks completely at ease. He scrolls on his phone with the hand
that punched Orion. The bruises on his knuckles are more discolored today, but the cuts are
clean. Regulus tries desperately—and fails miserably—to think of something other than that
same hand around his throat, those same fingers curled inside him.

“You’re staring, love.”

He nearly chokes on a blueberry. “I’m not,” he coughs, reaching for a glass of orange juice.
His cheeks are on fire. “Just… Your knuckles. They’re a little fucked up. I feel bad.”

“Eh. Could be worse.” James turns his hand over to regard the bruises and cuts with mild
interest. “It was worth it. I’d do it again.”

“Where’d you learn how to fight like that? My dad’s punches always land.”

“Boxed a bit during uni with some guys who lived in my building. It wasn’t serious, but it
was fun. Like a little club. I learned a thing or two from them.”

Regulus pushes his plate away and slides off the stool. “Will you teach me? I never learned
how to punch back, but Sirius did. I think I should learn, too.”

“I—Uh, yeah. Yeah, I can teach you, if you want.” James quirks a curious brow. “But who
are you fighting?”

“Honestly? There’s a good chance I’ll have to beat the shit out of Barty when we get back to
London.”

“Do I want to know?” asks James, setting his mug in the sink. He grabs his leather jacket
from the couch.

“Probably not.” Regulus shoves on his Docs, quickly doing up the laces. “Barty is… Well,
he’s Barty. You’ll see what I mean eventually. The world is his playground.”

Shrugging on his own jacket, Regulus follows after James to the lift. Their clothes from last
night no longer litter the entryway, and James smirks when he notices Regulus searching for
them.

He extends his hand, wriggling his fingers in invitation. His palm is warm and soft, a perfect
fit. Regulus lets James tug him into the lift, grinning like mad while James kisses him the
whole way down to the lobby.
For all the anxiety that plagued him before Milan, when it comes time to go home on Sunday,
Regulus realizes he doesn’t ever want to leave this city or his happy little bubble with James.

They spend Saturday exploring as much as possible. James rented a shiny black Ducati, and
although Regulus sits ramrod straight at first, he begins to relax when it’s clear James knows
what he’s doing. He weaves through traffic, easy and fluid, completely comfortable. Regulus
wraps his arms tightly around James’ middle, but it’s soon for warmth rather than out of fear.

Milan passes in a blur of colors. Like this, the city is within reach. Over the low thrum of the
Ducati’s engine, he can hear laughter on the pavement, can catch snippets of conversation.
Open car windows offer brief clips of Top 100 songs and Italian classics. When they ride
through a restaurant district, the aromas are so rich that Regulus all but starts to drool.

When they’re forced to wait for a gaggle of tourists to cross the road, he sneaks a hand
between James’ legs. He laughs brightly at James’ full body jolt when his palm kneads James
through his jeans. Entirely unconcerned that anyone might notice, he keeps his hand curved
around the inside of James’ thigh until they park.

It’s a warm, sunny afternoon. They walk the grounds of the Castello Sforzesco with their
faces upturned to the sky, and when they’ve seen all they can, they tour the museum and art
collection inside. James keeps Regulus’ hand in his, deftly navigating the busy Saturday
crowds. After, they eat their weight in pizza, purchase cones piled high with a variety of
gelato flavors to share, and meander through the bustling streets to Sempione Park.

But more than the food or the museum or the park, Regulus enjoys the easy conversations.
The way James laughs with his entire body, as if no part of him wants to miss out on this
chance to experience joy. But Regulus also finds comfort in their quiet silence when James
lies on his back in the grass, his head in Regulus’ lap and Regulus’ fingers combing through
his curls.

It’s some time before James, eyes closed and with the sun on his face, laments, “I think I ate
so much that none of my suits will fit when we get back to London.”

Regulus plucks blades of grass from the ground and lines them up neatly on James’ chest.
“Three days in Milan is going to give you a wicked dad bod.”

“Will you care?”

“Nah. Dad bods are sexy. I think you’d kill it.”

James’ lips twist into a cocky smirk. “It’s so cute how attracted to me you are, even though
you won’t admit—”

Regulus shoves several blades of grass in James’ mouth to shut him up. He sputters, spitting
on the ground, and Regulus laughs so hard the family nearby shoots them disapproving looks.
It isn’t until the sun dips low and the air chills that James gets to his feet, brushing grass off
his jeans. He helps Regulus up but doesn’t let go of his hand. They walk through the park
with their fingers interlaced until they reach where James left the Ducati.

“Wine?” prods Regulus, shoving the helmet over his head. “You promised me wine.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get on, Princess. I didn’t forget the wine.” James pats the seat behind him and
rolls his eyes before dropping the visor of his own helmet. “What are you thinking?
Chardonnay? Merlot? Pinot? Rosé?”

“You know what I like by now. I’ll let you pick.”

It’s a bit of a challenge, but he’s pleased when James picks the finest wine he can find. He
buys two bottles of a Cabernet Sauvignon heralded as one of the best in Italy, then tasks
Regulus with holding onto them the whole way back to their hotel.

Still full from their late lunch, they don’t bother with dinner. Instead, they cuddle on the
couch with their bottles of wine and watch Italian TV. Regulus finds a popular drama amidst
countless channels, and they take turns guessing the plot with nothing more than context
clues.

It becomes a game—whoever incorrectly guesses what will happen next has to drink. And
the more they drink, the more hilarious it becomes. Until Regulus clutches at his sides,
wheezing, “Stop, stop! I can’t breathe!” and James grins triumphantly from behind the rim of
his glass.

“Drink up, baby. My guess was correct, so it’s your loss.”

After a bottle and a half, when they’re both good and tipsy, all of their limbs loose and the
heat between them impossible to ignore, Regulus slides off the couch and kneels between
James’ thighs.

He tugs at a belt, at buttons and a pesky zipper, at the waistband of dark briefs until—yes. He
sets James’ cock on his tongue with a satisfied groan, all of his thoughts hazy with wine and
lust, and doesn’t stop until James spills down his throat.

Despite all of James’ promises for more, they’re both too tipsy for much of anything. They
stand under the hot shower spray and kiss, hands wandering until James coaxes Regulus to
the edge with gentle strokes. He comes with a heavy groan, his arms looped around James’
neck, and doesn’t realize they’re both smiling until James’ teeth hit his.

After a while, the water runs cold, and they stumble out of the shower shivering. James
nearly slips, his balance off from too much wine, and Regulus laughs so hard he does slip. He
manages to catch himself on the edge of the counter, heart hammering, and glares when he
looks up to find James bent over with hands on his knees, his laughs turning to wheezes he
can’t control.

They fall into bed a little before midnight. Their kisses are soft with no real purpose or
destination. Regulus slips in and out of sleep, mumbling nonsense, and James eventually tells
him to turn around, wrapping an arm around his waist to tug him close. James is out in
seconds; he snores softly into the nape of Regulus’ neck.

Their sheets are new, the thread count ridiculously high. It’s so soft against Regulus’ bare
skin, and James is a furnace behind him, that it takes no time at all for him to slip into a deep,
dreamless sleep.

He wakes Sunday morning to James trailing kisses along his bare shoulder, to a hand
following the curve of his waist. James nudges his cock between Regulus’ thighs, rutting
forward slowly until the fog of sleep clears from Regulus’ brain. He turns so James can take
them both in hand.

“Morning,” he murmurs into the hollow of James’ throat.

“Buenos días, amor,” James replies, his voice a low rumble in his chest. He kisses the crown
of Regulus’ head, lingering as he lazily strokes them both.

This time is soft sighs and breathy moans until Regulus comes with his teeth in James’
shoulder. James follows after with a full body shudder and satisfied groan. When he suddenly
ducks under the thin bedsheet, Regulus yelps in surprise.

“James!” He squirms under an eager tongue that laps at his skin, at the mess on his stomach.
“That—That tickles! Cut it out!”

“Waste not, want not,” is all James says in response. When he’s satisfied, he crawls up
Regulus’ body with a crooked grin and glazed eyes. “Pancakes again?”

Their morning passes in a blur of business calls interspersed with make out sessions that
nearly spiral out of control. They’re stopped every time James’ phone rings yet again. He
grumbles his displeasure, forced to answer with a gruff, “This is James,” and Regulus slides
out of his lap.

It goes this way for hours, until the inevitable end to their weekend arrives.

By midafternoon, they sit across from each other in the plane. James leans across the aisle to
talk with Mary about the company’s auction purchases. Despite the slight hiccup with the
board, who isn’t particularly fond of James’ choice to punch Orion Black in the middle of a
very public, very prestigious function, nothing truly serious seems amiss.

But before take-off, James receives a call from his parents. His Spanish is rapid fire and
heated from the start. Regulus hears his name a few times; his skin itches a little more with
each accented Regulus he catches. It’s clear from James’ clenched jaw and the tense line of
his shoulders that his parents aren’t pleased about the auction either.

“They hate me. They have to,” Regulus laments when James ends the call. He buries his face
in his hands. “Oh, God. I fucked it all up, didn’t I?”

“What? No, baby. No. They’re not mad at you, and they do not hate you. They’re not even
really mad at me.” James scratches at the back of his neck. “Pa… He, uh… He hates your
dad, though. A lot. Says he’s bad business.”

Regulus looks up, panicked. “You didn’t tell them about—?”

“No, no.” James shakes his head vehemently. “I’m not telling anyone about that. I promise.
But we’ve had bad dealings with members of your family in the past. My dad considers them
blacklisted. We don’t do business with them unless it’s unavoidable through a third-party. I
know we probably sounded furious with one another, but trust me, it’s fine. You are fine.”

Regulus frowns. “But I heard my name…”

“I mentioned you, yeah. But only to relay what happened at the auction. Ma is a little angry
with me for calling your mum a bitch, but she’ll get over it. I think she’s proud I stood up for
you. It’ll just take her a while to admit it.”

Despite James’ reassurance, Regulus’ foot bounces restlessly on his knee the more his
anxiety rears its ugly head. It isn’t easy for him to stop thinking that James’ parents might
hate him simply for who his parents are.

No matter what he does, he’s still a Black. Still Orion and Walburga’s youngest. Still an heir.
If he ever meets Monty and Effie, will he be able to convince them he isn’t like his parents?
Not most of the time, anyway. He can be better. He can do better.

The problem is, he isn’t like Sirius, all natural charisma and charm. He doesn’t know how to
smile that warm, open way that makes people comfortable. If anything, he’ll probably make
James’ parents uneasy. Everyone always loved Sirius. They enjoyed Regulus’ presence less
after he left.

Thoughts of his brother inevitably bring a familiar pang behind his ribs. He’s been good for a
long time; he hardly thinks about Sirius. But seeing his parents, and then his talk with James,
opened Pandora’s box. Questions he’s held onto since he was fourteen ping pong around in
his skull.

What happened to Sirius after he disappeared? Did he stay in London? Perhaps he moved to
Scotland like he always talked about. Or maybe he went far, far away to the States and
moved into a gorgeous New York City penthouse with his boyfriend.

Regulus isn’t sure he wants answers, but that doesn’t mean the questions stop.

He stares out the window, watches the clouds change shape and color. The closer they are to
London, the more he dreads the inevitable burst of this happy, safe bubble. The second the
plane’s wheels hit the tarmac and cold, dreary London greets him, his heart sinks.

He’ll have to go home and back to real life, to classes tomorrow and the club this weekend.
No more Milan. No more expensive wine drank too fast while Italian TV plays in the
background. No more ridiculously large bed or absurdly soft towels. No more giant windows
overlooking an unfamiliar but beautiful city. No more—

“Regulus.”
He looks up to find James staring down at him. A frown creases his brow.

“You coming, love? We can deplane.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.”

Begrudgingly, Regulus gets to his feet and follows James off the plane. It’s not even six p.m.
Could they get dinner? This weekend doesn’t have to end now, does it? The bubble doesn’t
have to pop. There’s still plenty of time for them to stay where the world can’t touch them.
Where none of the other shit matters. Where it’s only him and James.

A thumb and forefinger grip his chin to tilt his face. He’s met with imploring eyes that never,
ever miss a thing.

“Why are you spiraling?” asks James gently. “What’s wrong?”

Regulus swallows around the words lodged in his throat. “I don’t want to go,” he croaks,
forcing the admission out.

“What do you mean?”

“I—I don’t want this weekend to end. I don’t want to go home. If I go home…” He glances
sidelong at one of two black cars idling nearby. “I just—I want more time. With you.”

James softens; a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “My flat is in Knightsbridge.”

“Oh,” Regulus says, blinking rapidly. “That’s close to my university.”

“It is.”

“Which means I could easily make it to classes tomorrow.”

“It does.”

“And I already have clothes and stuff with me.”

“You do.”

Regulus fiddles with the hem of his jumper. He gnaws furiously on his bottom lip. “Are you
sure? I can go home. Really, I can. If it’ll be too much…”

“Stay with me tonight. Tomorrow night. Every night this week. I don’t care.” James’ thumb
tugs his bottom lip from between his teeth to soothe the abused skin. “You can stay as long as
you want.”

“Are you sure you—”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Regulus whispers. “Yeah. That’s… Okay.”

With a full smile, James calls over his shoulder, “Hey, George? You’re good. Pete will drive
us.”

“You sure, Mr. Potter?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. He’s coming home with me.”

Regulus bites the inside of his cheek to hold back his smile. James leads him to the second
car whose driver he doesn’t recognize. The man is short with neatly styled, sandy blonde hair
and a friendly face. He introduces himself as Peter, but adds, “You can call me Pete. Almost
everyone else does.”

James spends the ride to Knightsbridge on the phone with Mary. Whatever deal they
discussed on the plane isn’t finished being a problem, but Regulus doesn’t mind. James keeps
a hand curved around the inside of his thigh, and London rushes by in blurred shades of gray.

When they reach James’ building, Peter helps them with their luggage, then gives Regulus
another firm handshake. It brings with it the same feeling he had on their way to Milan—
James’ people respect him, adore him, and in return, he respects and adores them. He laughs
with Peter, pokes fun at Mary, jokes with Frank, teases Emmeline. No one is below him, even
though he’s unmistakably their boss.

In the lift, James pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. “Honestly, Mary?
My brain is fried. It’s Sunday. Let me have the night, yeah? Reg is staying over. It’d be nice
to spend uninterrupted time with him.”

Warmth blooms behind Regulus’ ribs, spreading through him quickly.

“I know we had uninterrupted time yesterday, but I want more. The board can wait. Yes, I
know they’re half dead already and time is of the essence, but another night won’t be the
thing that kills them.” James snorts, then adds, “Yes, Mum, I will call you in the morning
when I’m up. But please get laid tonight. I’m going to tell Emmeline it’s necessary for the
good of the company and—” He pulls his phone away from his ear, frowning. “She hung up.”

“Shocking,” Regulus mutters, rolling his eyes.

The lift comes to a stop on the top floor and opens to a short hallway. It’s a small entry space
with a single door at the end. He follows after James, swallowing around the ball in his
throat. It’s surreal to be here, so close to James’ personal space. He doesn’t know if it’s
excitement or anxiety or a queasy mix of both in the pit of his stomach.

Some part of him wants to scream wait, wait, wait when James uses a keycard to trigger the
lock, then ushers him inside. This will change everything, he thinks, crossing the threshold.
There’s no going back to before after this.

It’s strange. For all the time they’ve spent together, Regulus has somehow never thought to
conceptualize what James’ flat might look like. He expects something cold and manufactured
—white furniture, marble everywhere, stainless steel appliances, bare walls.
What he’s greeted with is anything but.

It’s an open floorplan with vaulted ceilings and natural light. The entryway spills into a well-
decorated living room. There’s an L-shaped couch covered in warm-colored throw pillows;
there are folded handmade blankets tossed over the back. Pictures cover the wall behind an
entertainment system, and even the shelf unit is covered with knickknacks and more pictures.
Floor to ceiling windows make up the far wall, providing an incredible view of the sunset
that mesmerizes Regulus until James tugs him towards the kitchen.

There are no walls to separate the spaces. Carpet becomes gorgeous tile, but from the kitchen,
Regulus can still see all of the living room. It’s a space meant for entertainment. There’s an
island with granite countertops and dark cabinets that match the ones wrapping around the
kitchen walls. A wooden sign above the fridge reads COCINA, and the empty space on top of
the cabinets is decorated with various trinkets.

“Most of it’s from Mexico,” James explains, digging around in his fridge for a bottle of white
wine. “I pick stuff up when I visit my parents. Little souvenirs. Decorative things. It’s usually
stuff you can’t buy anywhere else. Local vendor wares, you know?”

Regulus accepts the glass of wine James pours for him. “I expected a colder space,” he
admits sheepishly. “A lot of these penthouses all look the same.”

An apron hangs from a hook by the pantry and says in bold print: KISS THE COOK. The
dish towels are brightly colored and beautifully patterned, and the counters are cluttered with
an espresso machine, toaster, blender, and various mugs along the back wall.

The best word Regulus can come up with is homey. It’s not at all like his parents’ house,
where everything had a predetermined place, the furniture was for show not sitting, and the
walls were lifeless.

“It was pretty bland when I bought it,” James says, leaning back against the counter. He
swirls the wine in his glass and follows Regulus’ gaze around his flat. “But I spend a lot of
time here. I want it to be a comfortable place.”

“Do you mind if I look around?” asks Regulus, nodding to the living room.

“Go ahead.”

He wanders aimlessly, sipping wine while he takes it all in. He gravitates towards the wall of
pictures in the living room. Some are of people he’s met—Mary, Emmeline, Frank, Alice,
Peter—while others feature unfamiliar faces.

“Are these your parents?” he asks, squinting at a photograph of a man who looks startlingly
like James.

“Yeah. That’s my mum and dad last summer when I visited them in Guadalajara.”

“Can I be wholly honest?”

James stands to his left, watchful. He quirks a brow. “Yes?”

“Your dad is hot. Really hot.” Regulus’ grin broadens when James chokes on his wine.
“That’s a compliment, by the way. It’s nice to know you’ll age well.”

“You’re shameless.”

Regulus winks, then continues down the wall of pictures. Near the end, he asks, “Are some
missing?”

“Mm? Oh, no. Just haven’t filled those bits in yet.”

“There are nails in the wall.”

“Yeah, I had pictures up a little while ago, but they were really old. My parents’ wedding day,
my graduation… I wasn’t attached to them anymore. Took ‘em down to make room for new
stuff.” James’ arm circles his waist from behind. “You know, we took a lot of pictures in
Milan… I think there’s room for them, if you’re alright with it.”

Regulus turns and plants a hand on James’ chest, caught in his stare. “You’d put pictures of
us in your flat?”

“If it’s okay with you, yeah.” James sets his wine down on a nearby table, then Regulus’.
Chilled hands frame his face, and a gaze full of mischief meets his. “Speaking of photos…
What’s a man gotta do to get the full collection of you in that red set? No more teasing.”

“Depends. What are you willing to do?”

“Anything. Everything.” He walks them backwards with a steadily growing, devilish grin.
“But if you have any particular demands…”

Regulus giggles when James bumps into a table corner. He swears under his breath before
correcting their path.

“Forgot that was there. It’s new.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“To bed, obviously.” James takes a turn down a short hallway. There are two doors on either
side and one at the end. It’s this one he aims for, still walking backwards.

“You know,” Regulus says, fisting his hands in James’ jumper to push him up against the
wall, “just because you won gold doesn’t mean you stop striving to do better. I’ve heard
Olympic athletes are never satisfied.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

“Mhm.” Regulus leans forward to nibble on James’ Adam’s apple, at the hollow of his throat
and the point where his pulse beats strongest. “Even after they win gold, they keep training.
Improving. There’s a lot to learn… I’m strictly talking about sports, of course.”
“Right, of course.” James makes a soft, contented noise when Regulus’ mouth finds his.
Between kisses, he asks, “Who said I’m satisfied with gold?”

Regulus runs his tongue over James’ bottom lip, then takes it between his teeth. “No one said
it. I’m just telling you that if you’re not satisfied with gold, then the step above that is those
pictures. All of them. And there are a lot.”

“How many?”

“More than twenty. Less than forty.”

James stills with his lips on Regulus’ jaw. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Right, I’m doomed. Dead. Gone. I won’t be able to think about anything else now. Do I get
them all at once? One at a time?”

Regulus drops his head back to give James unfettered access to the column of his throat.
“You tell me, papi. How do you want this to go?”

James’ response is immediate and unrestrained. He circles his arms around Regulus’ waist to
hoist him off his feet. It’s a door kicked open before it bangs against the wall. It’s frantic,
open-mouthed kisses and clothes removed in a scramble. Regulus doesn’t have time to take
in the room before he’s tossed on the bed. James follows after, kissing him fiercely and with a
hunger that wipes his mind clear of anything but this.

“You taste better than everything,” James says, peppering kisses down Regulus’ bare chest to
the waistband of his jeans. “I’m so addicted to this. To you.”

Regulus tugs him up by the hair, too overwhelmed to hear anymore. He’ll choke on his
feelings if he isn’t careful. It’s easier this way, with kisses that are all teeth and tongue and
breathy moans.

James hooks a hand under Regulus’ knee to haul his leg up, to make space for himself
between slender thighs, and Regulus clings to him. He loses himself in the way James kisses
like any one of them might be their last, and he gives himself over to the heat of skin on skin.

Everything here smells of James, of that sandalwood and citrus fresh scent Regulus has
grown to love. When James flips him over to drive into him harder, he buries his face in
pillows laced with that familiar smell. He takes linen between his teeth, biting down to keep
from sobbing each time James brings him to the edge, only to pull him away from it over, and
over, and over again. Even after he begs, James refuses to let him have release.

He slips into madness, words nonsensical and slurred. But when James finally allows him to
break, to breathe, he buries his face in one of those pillows, inhales that comforting smell
deep in his lungs, and smiles around a choked sob when James shatters with him.

After, he curls against James’ side and traces patterns on a steadily rising and falling chest.
“What do you usually do for dinner?”
“I cook sometimes. Other times, takeaway works.”

“Mm. Takeaway sounds good.”

It’s a little while before they meander into the living room. Regulus dons an oversized
university shirt James gives him and slips into clean briefs. To his surprise, it doesn’t feel
uncomfortable to lie on James’ couch like this. No, it’s like he’s done this a thousand times
before. He lies on his stomach with a pillow under his head and flips aimlessly through
Netflix. In the kitchen, James places an order for delivery.

Regulus does his best not to let the little voice in his ear nag at him when their food arrives.
James joins him on the sofa with two bags full of takeaway boxes. He breaks his chopsticks,
settles into warm, comfy cushions with a small plate of white rice and orange chicken, and
tries to focus on the film he lets James choose.

You’re notoriously great at ruining good things, the voice whispers after they finish eating in
comfortable silence, when James collects their plates and puts the leftovers away in the
fridge. The voice plays on a loop until James comes back, offering his hand with a small
smile.

“We can watch this in my bed,” he says. “It’s a lot comfier than the sofa.”

You’ll ruin this too, if you’re not careful.

“Okay,” Regulus replies, getting to his feet. He focuses on James’ hand in his—the warmth
of his palm, the soft pads of his fingers.

No one stays for long. Not the ones you want.

Not the ones you don’t deserve.

“You alright?” asks James, tugging him into bed and under the sheets. He turns on the TV on
the opposite wall, settling in against the mountains of pillows. “Don’t spiral, love. I want you
here.” He holds out his arm with a crooked grin. “Come closer. I’m freezing.”

“I find that very hard to believe,” Regulus mumbles, but he nestles against James’ side. Sets
his ear over James’ heart. It’s this steady beat and rhythm that quiets the nastiness in his head,
the voice of his mother reminding him he doesn’t deserve this and shouldn’t get too used to
it.

But I do deserve this, and you can’t have him, he thinks stubbornly, throwing an arm around
James’ middle. He doesn’t mean to squeeze so hard, but James grunts, then laughs faintly.

I deserve him, and I’m going to fucking keep him.

This one is mine.

All Regulus can do is hope the universe doesn’t disagree.

Chapter End Notes

idk there's just something so damn soft about James making all of these promises to fuck
Reg's brains out of his ears, but then they get wine drunk watching Italian TV and slip
all over the bathroom floors and fall asleep snuggling instead :( like yeah James rocked
Reg's world last night, but tonight? tonight he's keeping him warm and safe and snoring
in his ear.

i love them, your honor 😭

and Reg equating the constant thoughts of Sirius to opening Pandora's box after so long
keeping it closed, and now he can't stop thinking about where his brother is and what
he's doing :( oh baby. he's so stubborn, grappling with this hatred he's held onto for so
long, but this is grief, y'know? he's built his life around this brother-shaped hole, but that
doesn't mean the hole is gone. every once in a while he forgets it's there and falls in it.

😭
trips, busts his ankle... he can say "fuck my parents" after Milan, but he has a much
harder time saying the same for his big brother

also, some have seen me mention it on Tumblr (and a few caught it in ch 9 with the
"Princess" comment triggering a specific response in Reg), but Reg has had thoughts on
his gender identity/expression that he's yet to really discuss with James. it wasn't
initially meant to be a part of the story, but the more time i've spent with this Reggie and
thought about him, the more right it's felt right for him. it started with "yeah he likes
he/they," and then it spiraled into, "but why?" and now we're here. i've added some tags
but the best way to describe Reg's gender is he's leaning on genderfluid, but even he's
not sure yet. he's very much at the start of his journey. it's also quite personal for many
reasons, so it's been cathartic to think about how i want to write this story for him.

anyway! him and James talk about this more in detail in the next few chapters. but i
thought i'd drop a note about it because Reg is comfortable with who he is. there's no
gender dysphoria. he's just trying to figure out what suits him best and feels the most
authentically him, but yeah — it's discussed more soon!

see you in the next one and i hope you enjoyed <3

🖤
once again, happy birthday to the man, the myth, the legend — James Fleamont Potter
 if i take a step back to see the glass half full
Chapter Notes

hello all! i'm sorry for the longer than anticipated break between ch 10 and this one. i'd
intended to publish this almost a week ago, but life really got in the way (looking at you,
car that stopped accelerating on the freeway). lots of stresses etc. my first of 5 exams is
also in ~3 weeks, so i can't promise super consistent updates until after May 10th. i'll
still aim for once a week (trust me, i'll need the serotonin these two bring me to make it
through exam season), but i also have to prioritize my studies.

anyway, friendly reminder that gender is not a one size fits all mold, and it is incredibly
nuanced and individual <3 enjoy!

cw recreational drug use (i watched a movie with a shotgunning smoke scene and it was
all over for me after that, folks); and really small tw for mentions of a homophobic
household but nothing explicit

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Babe, tilt your face up for me? Close your eyes, too. Perfect.”

When Dorcas leans closer, Regulus breathes in her familiar smell of fresh floral and spice. It
mixes with the incense aroma permeating Lily and Pandora’s entire flat, though it’s strongest
here in their living room where a stick burns on the coffee table.

Dorcas’ finger pokes gently into the divot under his chin to tilt his head back a little more for
the perfect angle. She swipes a soft bristled brush over his left lid, working it back and forth
in practiced, short strokes. This isn’t the first time he’s sat for Dorcas, who runs a successful
business as an independent makeup artist.

“Ugh, this color isn’t working either,” she says with a displeased huff. “I hate picky clients.
They always give me the worst anxiety.”

“I think it looks good,” remarks Lily from her place on the sofa. “Did she gave you an idea of
what she wants?”

“She sent inspo pics, but not a single one looks the same. It’s a mess. I can’t tell if this girl
wants Kim K neutral vibes or full tropical toucan.”

“Well, whatever you’re doing right now looks fabulous.”

“That’s because it’s Regulus.”

He smirks, though he’s careful not to let his eyes crinkle at the corners where Dorcas
continues to place pigment on his lid.

It’s a Thursday afternoon, not even four p.m., but they’re all at least one cocktail deep. When
Regulus arrived shortly after his last class let out, Lily proclaimed, “Wonderful! It’s five
o’clock somewhere, yeah?” and set about making four very strong margaritas.

Much to his chagrin, Regulus has barely touched the second cocktail Lily made for him after
he finished his first. Apparently, Dorcas’ bitchy client shares his complexion. She’s done and
redone the makeup on his eyes no less than twelve times over the last hour or so.

“When’s the event?” he asks.

“Next weekend.”

“Oh. Then you have plenty of time to figure out the right look.”

Dorcas heaves a sigh. “Yeah, but I have other clients between now and then. Less picky ones,
sure, but I’m going to be stressed about this one for days. It’s a bride and her full bridal party.
Do you have any idea how much she’s paying me? I can’t fuck this up. I’m also pretty sure
she’s an heiress or something. Very Paris Hilton.”

“Bummer. She’ll never be happy,” Pandora laments from her spot on the floor. Her head rests
on Regulus’ thigh, and she’s stretched out under a thin blanket.

“Thanks for that vote of confidence,” snaps Dorcas, and Regulus can hear the scowl in her
voice. “But if this goes really well, then I’ll probably have a huge list of future clients. All of
her bridesmaids will marry CEOs.”

“Just like our Reggie.” Pandora giggles when Regulus manages to smack her forehead gently.
“Sorry, but I’m just saying what we’re all thinking! Mr. Regulus Black-Potter… You’re
gonna be so spoiled. Promise you won’t become a Paris Hilton? I can see you as a
Bridezilla.”

Regulus fights the urge to bop her on the forehead again. “Shut up. You don’t see anything.”

“Of course I do. I’m very perceptive.”

“I know for a fact my tarot cards didn’t tell you that I’ll marry a rich CEO.”

“Oh, darling. I don’t need tarot cards to see that in your future.” This time, Regulus doesn’t
hold back and smacks her square in the middle of her forehead. She cackles, clearly pleased.
“Come off it, Reggie. You’re the one who made Milan sound like a honeymoon!”

“I did not!”

“You kinda did,” Lily pipes up from the sofa. “It’s not a bad thing. It sounded lovely. I think
it’s exactly what you needed. You’ve had a string of not-so-great guys in the past, but James
is good for you.”
Regulus presses his lips into a thin line. “He’s… Well, he’s James.”

“I know you’re only wearing that constipated look right now because every time you even
think his name, you smile like an idiot.”

“Evans, if I could flick you between the eyes from here, I would.”

“Oh, no. I’m just shaking in my slippers.”

Dorcas quits blending colors on his lids with a disgruntled huff. “Can you two cut it out?
Reggie moves when they talk. It’s annoying.”

“I don’t move,” he argues, forcing his body to stay very still to prove his point.

“Then just quit talking so I don’t have to hear you and Lily bicker. I’m almost done.”

A sound bar connected to the girls’ TV plays indie pop while Dorcas works with unbreakable
focus. Regulus is more than happy to sit for her; the brush on his lids is strangely calming.
After a while, he worries he’ll fall asleep sitting up if Dorcas doesn’t finish soon.

Until she finally declares, “Alright. That’s as good as she’s gonna get.”

Pandora sits up, and Regulus opens his eyes for the first time in what feels like an eternity.
“Well?” he asks, looking at each of the three girls in turn.

“Kinda dangerous. Very sexy.”

“Hot.”

“You should do winged liner more often.”

Lily turns on her side to rest her cheek on her fist. “You’re going to James’ after this, right?”
She grins mischievously. “Don’t wash your face or any of that off. I bet he’ll die over this.
Let him see it.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Regulus fiddles with the hem of his jumper, suddenly shy. “I’ve only
ever worn a bit of eyeliner. It’s always subtle. I doubt he even notices…”

“I’m sure he does. You’re gorgeous. He’d be an idiot not to notice.”

“I guess. He just might not be into all…this?”

Dorcas rolls her eyes and passes him a small mirror. “This is some of my finest work. And
it’s not anything too dramatic, either. I could’ve done a crazier wing, but this is meant to be
for a wedding, so it’s blended out. I’m trying something I saw on TikTok. It’s supposed to be
‘natural,’ but I think that’s bullshit. It requires a fuck ton of work to nail it. Here. See for
yourself.”

He chews on his bottom lip and risks a glance in the handheld mirror. Dorcas added a bit of
blush and subtle highlighter on his cheekbones—to bring out your natural freckles; all the
beauty gurus wish they had them like this—as well as some on the bridge of his nose.

But it’s the soft, smoked out wing and subtle colors blended on his lids, as well as a touch of
sparkly white in his inner corners, that brightens his eyes. The storm cloud gray of his irises
is now a misty color, though the edges remain a darker hue.

“Hot, right?” asks Dorcas, grinning proudly. “I don’t think this’ll look good on my client,
though. The tones, yeah, but her eyes aren’t like yours. I’ll have to do different colors for
her.”

“I don’t want to wash it off,” he admits quietly, tilting his head so light catches the shimmery
shadows. “You worked too hard. And it looks really good.”

“Then don’t.” Pandora nudges his knee with her own. “Wear it, Reggie. James will like it.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then fuck him,” says Lily simply. “You’re trying to figure out something really important to
you. If he can’t support that then he isn’t worth your time. I know you like him, but your
comfort comes first. If he doesn’t like that you want to experiment with gender expression a
little, then once again—fuck him.”

Dorcas pulls her leg to her chest and rests her chin on her knee. Her expression is
contemplative. “Have you mentioned any of it to him yet? You said last Friday that you
wanted to, but…”

“No,” Regulus admits, shaking his head. “I don’t… I don’t know how to bring it up. The
gender stuff.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to—he really, really does—but it took him ages to talk openly
about it with his friends. And even that conversation only happened recently. He still
remembers fumbling through it, hands clasped in his lap and palms clammy. As usual, the
nasty voice that sounds eerily like his mother kept whispering, No, shut up, they won’t be on
board or supportive of this.

They were, of course.

He nearly fell off the couch with relief when Pandora got up to hug him and said, “We’re
here for you, Reggie, however you need us to be.” He was lightheaded from his rambling
attempt to explain I don’t know what I am or want to be, and it feels good sometimes to exist
in a liminal space between masculine and feminine, and maybe I’m okay with being a boy but
I don’t want to only be this, and I hate the boxes, but I don’t know what that means yet.

After he breathed deep into his lungs, it was Lily who offered, “Maybe we start with
pronouns? That could be good. No big changes yet.”

“Like gender baby steps!” Pandora said, shaking him a little. It made him laugh and broke the
tension.
“We’ll call you whatever you feel comfortable with,” added Barty, and the rest of his friends
echoed the sentiment.

“I think ‘he’ is fine, but ‘they’ is good, too,” he told them, wiping his palms on his jeans.
“For now. That’s small, right?”

Pandora kissed his cheek and murmured, “Yeah. Gender baby steps.”

The problem is, he doesn’t know how to drop this in James’ lap. He’s had the opportunity,
but he chickens out every time.

It’s been two weeks since they came back from Milan, and Regulus has slept over at James’
flat every night. He’s gone home only a few times—for his Porsche, his laptop and textbooks,
some work necessities. Even on the late nights he has a shift at the club, he parks the Porsche
in the underground garage of James’ building and takes the lift to the top floor.

For the first few days, he waited for James to send him home. To tell him, This is too much,
and maybe a little distance would be nice. But if anything, James is the opposite. One
morning, when Regulus said he needed to go back to his flat after class for more clothes,
James simply left his black card on the kitchen island with a note that read:

Buy whatever you need with this :)

(And maybe a little something for me…)
-J

That night, James walked in the door to find Regulus reading on the sofa. He was lying on his
stomach, feet in the air and ankles crossed. It was a new set he wore—soft pink in color and
all lace, with black silk garters and thigh high stockings topped with bows.

“Hi, Princess.” James pulled at his tie and asked in a low tone, “Is this for me?”

To which Regulus looked over his shoulder and replied sweetly, “You bought it, papi. What
do you think?”

His new set didn’t last the night.

Once Regulus’ initial anxiety faded, it was easier to find comfort in James’ space. On the
nights he doesn’t work at the club, he sits on the kitchen island, socked feet banging softly
against the cabinets, and watches James make dinner. He always offers to help, but James
shakes his head, dons his ridiculous apron, and says, “I like to cook. Just sit there and look
pretty. Keep me company. Maybe do the dishes.”

He does, which he finds terrifyingly domestic. James always helps, flicking soap suds at him
with a cheeky grin. It’s with each of these small moments that the terror of what this is
between them fades a little more.
After the first week, Regulus wondered if his insomnia would finally let him rest for the first
time in years. He thought James on his tongue before bed was his new melatonin, something
better than Ambien.

Until one night he woke drenched in a cold sweat. His heart rate was through the roof, and
his lungs refused to take in air. He shook like a leaf, gasping for breath, until a warm arm
wrapped around his middle and a strong chest covered his back like a weighted blanket.

“Hey,” murmured James. He threw a leg over Regulus’ hip and tugged him close. “It’s okay,
love. You’re safe here.”

But Regulus still shook. His heart hammered against his ribs. Even as he stared into the dim
of James’ room, he saw nothing but his mother’s cruel smile and his father’s twisted anger.
So many memories that he locked carefully away but were beginning to resurface.

“Baby?”

It wasn’t typical for these things to haunt him. Not like this. And why here, in a place he felt
warm and safe and—

“Regulus.”

He buried his face in a pillow and whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“S’Alright. I usually get up around this time.”

A lie—the clock said it was 3:27 a.m. James could sleep until noon if he didn’t have a
company to run, and his insomnia isn’t chronic. It comes and goes with his stress, but doesn’t
bother him lately.

Regulus hasn’t been so lucky.

That night, they stayed up talking until Regulus swung a leg over James to straddle his hips.
It was slow sex, not like their usual, but good for nearly five in the morning. And when the
weekend came around, James brought him to the Lego store again and waited while he
picked out something complex enough to hold his interest.

Like clockwork, he couldn’t sleep that night, or the next, or the one after that. So he slipped
out of James’ arms and wandered into the living room, where he sat on the floor between the
couch and coffee table to start building. It wasn’t even twenty minutes later that he heard
shuffling footsteps. He looked up to find James mid yawn and wiping sleep from his eyes.

“You should go back to bed,” Regulus had said, clicking pieces together. His stomach sank
through the floor; he didn’t want to cause James trouble. “I’ll be fine. I just need an hour to—
What are you doing?”

James sat on the floor next to him. He set two glasses of water on the table, then grabbed a
blanket from the sofa to cover his bare shoulders. “Can I help?” he asked, blinking at the
pieces strewn over his coffee table and the booklet near Regulus’ elbow. “It’s been a long
time since I built a Lego set, but I like them.”
“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Just tell me what to do.”

Regulus showed him how one step really involves three or four sub steps to complete it. They
sat in comfortable silence, clicking pieces together until Regulus’ eyelids started to droop.
Rather than head back to bed, they laid out on the sofa and dozed until the sun came up.

Any one of these late night Lego sessions would’ve been the perfect opportunity to talk to
James about how he’s felt regarding his gender. And while he doesn’t always think about it,
he thinks about it more now that it feels like a secret he’s keeping.

“What if we help you?” asks Dorcas, drawing him back into the incense-filled living room.
“He’s coming to film night tomorrow, right? Maybe we can… I don’t know. Help me out,
Lils. You’re better at this stuff.”

“We can do what we’ve been doing?” Lily purses her lips, contemplative. “If you don’t want
to bring it up out of the blue, maybe he’ll notice we use other pronouns for you. That we
alternate them and stuff.”

Pandora snorts. “You’re asking a lot of a man, babe.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” says Dorcas. “If he doesn’t notice, then we’ll help Reg figure
something else out. But if he does notice, maybe he’ll bring it up on his own. He seems
thoughtful like that.”

“And if he notices but doesn’t bring it up at all?” Regulus counters.

“Regardless, we’ll help you figure something out. You’re not alone in this if you don’t want
to be.” Dorcas squeezes his knee, smiling softly. “You also don’t have to tell him.”

“I know, but I want to. I think he’s wondering, but maybe he’s afraid to ask and make me
upset… I don’t know.” Regulus shrugs, then pulls his knees to his chest to rest his chin
between them. “I don’t want him to think this is some sort of elephant in the room when it’s
really not that big of a deal.”

Lily wags a finger at him. “It’s a big deal to you, and therefore it is a big deal. Don’t
downplay it. We’ll see what happens tomorrow night.” She sits up suddenly. “Speaking of—
what are you going to do about Barty?”

“Barty?” ask Pandora and Dorcas in unison.

Regulus’ grin slowly spreads. “James and I have a little plan. I told him Barty will probably
flirt with him. It’s just what he does because he thinks it gets under my skin. So I told James
to flirt back.”

Pandora bursts out laughing and shakes her head, strands of white-blonde hair popping out
from the bun on her head. “Barty is going to be so confused.”

“Exactly. I’ll throw him off his game.”

“Poor Barty,” Dorcas sighs, but Lily says, “This is gonna be so fun.”

It’s half past six when James parks the Aston outside Barty and Evan’s flat. There’s a bottle
of chilled tequila between Regulus’ feet, and he reaches for it. The car is eerily quiet now; the
engine and music cut at the same time.

“I still think this is overkill,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt. He spins the tequila bottle
around in his hands and frowns at the label. “They’re going to love you with or without a
gift.”

“It feels like proper etiquette, though. And I’m a little nervous,” James adds sheepishly,
squeezing Regulus’ thigh. “This is like meeting your family.”

“Technically, you already met my parents. And you lived to tell the tale.”

“Sure, but you don’t usually punch your boyfriend’s dad the first time you meet him. Seems a
bit—What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Regulus’ grip on the tequila tightens until his knuckles turn white. He stares at James, his
heart an obtrusive thing in his throat, and blinks rapidly until he manages to croak,
“Boyfriend?”

“Oh. I…” James rubs at the back of his neck and rolls his bottom lip between his teeth. “That
was one hell of a Freudian slip, wasn’t it?”

They haven’t talked about it. This. Them. Regulus spends every secondminutehour that he
can with James, but only realizes now—on a Friday night two weeks after their trip to Milan
—that they haven’t talked about it. Does he even want to? Talking about it means putting a
label on it means admitting the label can come off means it can break, that Regulus can—no,
will break it. He always does.

No label is better. A thing without a label can be left on a shelf and forgotten. What is it?
Don’t know, don’t remember, don’t care, doesn’t matter, isn’t important.

A firm, unyielding grip on his chin. Wide hazel eyes behind round glasses. Close, so close,
because James is close and—

“Baby,” he says, soft but stern. “¿Estás bien?” A voice smooth and dark as whiskey.
Delicious, and lovely, and best kept somewhere Regulus can’t reach it. “Regulus, mírame.”

“I’m looking,” he whispers, because he is.

“Searched that one up, did you?”

A laugh bubbles out of him before he can stop it. “Context clues. In Milan. When I was on
my knees for you.”

“Don’t distract me with mental images of you—” James’ fingers tighten on Regulus’ chin,
and a muscle feathers in his jaw. “Baby, be honest with me. And yourself. One word and
you’re spiraling. Why?”

Because he doesn’t think he’s ever properly dated—with titles and commitment and the
threat of falling in love. His relationship with Barty and Evan doesn’t count. They were
wonderful, and they loved him, but he was never in danger of falling in love with them.
There’s a distinct difference to Regulus.

Because he is very, very much in danger of falling in love with James Potter.

“It’s a big word,” he says. “To me.”

“Why?”

“Because I ruin things. Fuck them up.” He fights the urge to bring his thumb to his mouth
and bite his nails. It’s a habit he kicked years ago, but he feels knocked off-balance. All that
stops him is the black polish that he knows will taste godawful. “It’s easier to pretend I can’t
ruin it if it’s just sex or…”

James tilts his head. The tip of his tongue runs along his lower lip before his teeth sink into it,
and Regulus could strangle him for this movement alone. “Is it, though?” he asks evenly.
“Just sex?”

Was it ever?

Regulus shakes his head as much as he can with James’ fingers still firmly gripping his chin.
“No,” he replies. God, his voice betrays everything. It’s pained even to his own ears. He
swallows, then adds, “But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t scare the shit out of me.”

“What if I told you it scares the shit out of me, too?”

“Then I’d call bullshit. You’re not scared of anything.”

James’ mouth quirks at the corner. “That’s not true. I’m just not scared of you.” He pulls
Regulus close enough the tips of their noses brush. “We can do this, you know. We can give it
a proper try, if you want.”

“What if it crashes and burns?”

“And what if it doesn’t?”

Regulus flicks his gaze to the roof of the Aston. He can’t look into James’ eyes anymore.
They pin him in place and make it impossible for him to think. His brain is a muddled mess
but despite it, his heart knows the truth.

Who is he kidding, anyway?

They were properly together that first morning he rolled out of James’ bed, naked until he
threw on an oversized jumper that smelled of sandalwood and citrus, and padded softly into
the kitchen where James flipped omelets while dancing to low music. He looked over his
shoulder, hazel eyes bright, said, Morning, love. Gimme five and breakfast will be ready—
and Regulus should’ve known right then.

“I make stupid decisions when it comes to you,” he mutters, still staring at the Aston’s roof
like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever laid eyes on. “But I don’t regret a single one, so
maybe…” He inhales a shaky breath, then whispers, “Okay. Yes, I want to.”

“Want to what?” asks James, and Regulus scowls.

“You know what. Don’t play dumb.”

“Me? Play dumb? Wouldn’t dream of it, love.”

“I hate you.”

James’ fingers squeeze his chin, and he finally drops his gaze to meet excited eyes. “So I can
call you my boyfriend now and you won’t run screaming for the hills?”

“I did not run screaming. You’re being dramatic.”

“That’s rich coming from you, Princess.” James’ eyes crinkle with his laugh when Regulus
tries to bite the tip of his nose. “Should I change your name in my phone again?”

“What? No. And what do you mean ‘again’?” Regulus asks warily, his eyes narrowing to
slits. “What is it now? ‘Regulus’ is fine. You don’t need to—”

James snorts. “Oh, love. It hasn’t been ‘Regulus’ since we got back from Italy.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Fine. I’ll tell you mine…” A knowing, wolfish smirk. “But only if you tell me yours.”

Regulus stills. “You didn’t.”

“In my defense, it really was an accident. Your phone was on the counter, and we have the
same one, so I picked it up…” He trails off, his grin widening slowly. “You hadn’t opened my
last message. The notification was right there.”

“Oh, my God.” Regulus groans and slumps in his seat. He’s mortified. “You weren’t
supposed to see it!”

James’ grin becomes positively blinding. “When we text while you’re in class, does the
person next to you wonder who ‘Daddy’ is? Or are you better about not leaving your phone
face up in public where anyone can see it?”

“You weren’t supposed to see it!” he repeats emphatically, humiliation mounting when he
realizes it’s probably been days since James saw his new contact name.

“I liked the heart, by the way,” he muses. “I think it’s adorable.”

Regulus sticks out his tongue with a scowl. He’s too embarrassed to bother with excuses.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I like it. I didn’t want you to change it because you were embarrassed. And I
changed yours, so it felt fair.” James’ fingers shift to splay over his jaw, the touch so tender it
cracks something open in Regulus. “It’s ‘Princess,’ by the way. I like the way you blush a
little whenever I call you that.”

“Don’t change it,” Regulus blurts before he can push the words down. His cheeks heat
immediately. Quieter, he adds, “Keep that one. It’s better than—than ‘Boyfriend’ or
something.”

James’ fingers slip into Regulus’ curls, tangling in the ones at his nape. “I’m gonna be
annoying about it, though. The boyfriend thing. I feel like I’ve gone to war and back these
last… How long has it been now?”

“Since when exactly?”

“The first night. The very first one. I knew I wanted you then, so I’m counting from there.”

Regulus swallows. “Three months, give or take.”

“Dios mío, I’ve been so bloody patient. Yeah, I think I’ve earned the right to be annoying.”

Before Regulus can come up with a witty retort, James kisses him in that soft, special way he
seems to when there are things he wants to say but can’t. Regulus only understands because
he’s the same; it’s easier, sometimes, to be vulnerable in action rather than in words.

When James pulls away, Regulus chases after him with a soft whine. “Your friends, love,” he
murmurs, chuckling. “We’ve been parked out here for fifteen minutes. They’re going to think
we’re up to something.”

“So? We should be up to something. The backseat is big enough.”

“I’m too tall.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

James kisses him again, but he pulls away before Regulus can deepen it. “Come on. We’ve
got a little game to win, remember?”

“Oh. Right.” Regulus drops back in his seat, two fingers pressed to his mouth. It’s stretched
into a wide smile. “You don’t have to, you know. Fuck with Barty. If you’re having second
thoughts…”

“Are you?”

“Definitely not.”

“Do you think he’ll hate me for messing with him?”

Regulus snorts. “No. It’ll probably make him love you more than he already does. He’s
irritating that way.”

“Wonderful. They say if you can win over one, you can win them all.” James nudges his
shoulder with a gentle hand. “Let’s go before I decide the backseat isn’t too small after all.”

“Oh, that’s not fair!” Regulus opens his door with an irritated huff. James slams his own
closed, punctuating it with a delighted laugh.

It’s nearing the end of January. Chilly air bites at the exposed sliver of skin between the
waistband of Regulus’ loose black cargo pants and baby blue jumper. He shivers, and a warm
hand slips under soft cashmere to rest on his bare skin. It turns his insides molten, makes
them gooey as treacle.

“Boyfriend,” he hears James murmur under his breath as they walk up to Barty and Evan’s
front door. He’s grinning like a cat that’s got the cream. “Sounds lovely, doesn’t it?”

“You really are going to be annoying about this,” Regulus says with feigned exasperation.

“Oh, absolutely. Give me another twenty minutes to process it and I’ll be shouting from the
rooftops about how much I—”

Barty and Evan’s front door swings open with a dramatic flourish. Light floods out onto the
landing along with the mouthwatering smell of Pad Thai—which means Marlene is cooking
tonight, and Regulus will have to kiss her full on the mouth for it. Pad Thai is his favorite, but
only when it’s Marlene who’s made it.

His excitement bubbles over, and he’s ready to plough right through the entryway and into
the kitchen—until he realizes who stands between him and his favorite dish. “Oh, hell,” he
mutters, turning his face to the sky and squeezing his eyes shut.

“I’m on greeting duty,” Barty says, grinning as wide as the Cheshire Cat. “Lily said so.”

“Bullshit. You said so.”

“Maybe. What difference does it make?” He turns his attention to James, who watches with a
steady, calculating stare. “Hello, you,” Barty all but purrs. He leans against the doorframe,
arms and ankles crossed. He’s in nothing but a black T-shirt and loose jeans, but simple has
always worked well for him. It emphasizes the tattoos all over his arms and hands, the rose
over his throat.
“Good evening,” James replies simply. He holds out his hand, and Barty smirks before
shaking it.

“I’m Barty. We haven’t met, but I know all sorts of things about you.” He tilts his head and
Regulus sighs heavily. “Has Reggie told you anything about me?”

James tilts his head to mirror Barty. Sizes him up as much as Barty does the same to him,
taking in the tattoos and various piercings. The way his hair sticks up in all directions as
though he spent his childhood sticking knives in light sockets.

“I recognize you from the club,” James says smoothly.

“Bingo, baby. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

“I know. I don’t really think you’ve earned an answer yet.”

Barty’s jaw ticks, but before he can open his mouth to respond, Regulus shoves at his chest to
push him aside. “Quit flirting with my boyfriend and move. I want food.”

“It’s not ready yet. And I’m hardly flirting. This is just pleasant conversation. Also—
boyfriend? That’s new.” Barty kicks the door shut behind them, gaze flicking between
Regulus and James like they’re a particularly fascinating puzzle. “Does that mean I’m not
allowed to flirt with him anymore?”

“As if anything could stop you,” Regulus deadpans, toeing off his Docs to set them near the
front door.

“Wonderful.” To James, he says, “Have they told you I’m on a very important mission to fu
—Ow, ow, ow!”

Regulus has snatched his ear to drag him away from a very amused-looking James, who
shrugs off his leather jacket and hangs it on a hook. “Seriously, Barty? Seriously? We haven’t
even been here for five minutes.”

“Figured I’d break the ice properly from the jump. Sorry.”

He drags Barty down the hall and into the living room. His friends all turn at once, and their
expressions morph from curious to startled at the sight of him hauling Barty by the ear. They
shift again when James comes around the corner.

“Hello,” he says with a small wave. “I’m James.”

“We know,” says Pandora from her spot on the sofa. She has her feet in her brother’s lap, but
manages to move them just before Regulus all but throws Barty across Evan’s thighs. “I’m
Pandora, but we’ve met. And I see you’ve met Barty.”

There’s a twinkle in James’ eyes and a crinkle at their corners. “Yeah, I remember you. Your
parents’ restaurant is one of my favorites now.”
Pandora beams with pride. “Oh. Mum and Dad will love that. Anyway, everyone introduce
yourselves and stop gawking.”

Introductions are more painless than Regulus expected. After their initial surprise, his friends
ease into comfortable smiles. Evan shares a casual fist bump with James and says, “Whiskey,
always neat,” to which James smiles and replies, “Brilliant.”

He says hello to each of the girls in turn. They catalog his gray jumper, relaxed jeans, and
colorful socks with shrewd eyes. Regulus can practically hear the conversation between
Dorcas and Marlene when the former shoots the latter a pointed look.

He doesn’t look like a CEO, does he?

A subtle head shake. Not even a little.

James takes a seat on the sofa at Evan’s invitation, and though Regulus is hesitant to leave
him alone in a new environment, he seems relaxed enough. When James shoots him a smile,
then a wink, the tension leaves his bones and he wanders into the kitchen to say a proper
hello to Lily and Marlene.

“He seems lovely,” Lily says under her breath when Regulus hugs her.

“Just like that?” he asks, reaching for the bottle opener on the counter to open the beer he
grabbed for James.

Lily shrugs. “I like the way he looks at you.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Reggie, it’s supposed to be obvious.” Lily bumps him with her hip. Her green eyes sparkle,
and her smile is fond. “It’s what you deserve. Here, I just finished making this margarita.
Want a shot, too?”

“Please.”

Lily pours one for him and another for herself. The bottle of tequila James bought is in the
freezer, waiting until Lily finishes the one already open on the counter. It won’t take long; her
cocktails are strong for a reason.

“Agh,” she says after knocking back the shot. She makes a face, then reaches for her
margarita. “So much better in a cocktail.”

Regulus laughs and takes his drink and James’ beer back into the living room. Pandora has
moved to sit cross-legged in front of the TV next to Dorcas, but Barty and Evan keep their
spot at one end of the sofa. Regulus lowers himself gingerly beside James, careful not to spill
any of his drink.

“What’s that?” asks James, nodding to Regulus’ cocktail. “Strawberry margarita?”

“Mhm. Lily’s specialty. She’ll make one if you want. They’re strong enough that two will get
you past tipsy, but not too strong that you taste the tequila. They go down easy. Wanna try?”

James nods, and Regulus brings the glass to his lips. He tilts it slowly so James can drink. “I
see what you mean,” he says, humming appreciatively after Regulus pulls the drink away.
“Those are dangerous. You’re a tequila person, aren’t you?”

“Sometimes.” Regulus nestles into James’ side and throws a leg over his. He catches Evan’s
pointed look, and ducks behind the safety of his glass to hide his blush. He’s brought guys
around in the past—no one special or memorable, if he’s honest—but he always kept his
distance from them in front of his friends.

“You ever had a paloma?” asks James.

“No. What’s in it?”

James’ arm circles his shoulders, and fingers slip under the neckline of his jumper to rest
over his collarbone. It’s a subtle but possessive touch. “Tequila. Lime juice. My mum
squeezes a fresh orange in it, too. Then you add Squirt, some Tajín. Oh, and you always have
to make sure there’s chamoy on the rim.” James drops his head back with a wistful sigh. “Ma
makes them the best. I could drink a hundred of them.”

“You’d get alcohol poisoning.”

“Worth it. Trust me.” James rubs his fingers against Regulus’ collarbone absently. “She’ll
make you one someday. Actually, she’ll probably make you as many as you can handle.”

There’s a slight tug behind Regulus’ ribs. He sips his margarita, desperate to hide the blush
he knows colors his cheeks bright pink. It always betrays him. “Someday sounds nice,” he
murmurs, and James hums his agreement.

Conversation is easier than Regulus expected. Evan and James settle into a smooth back and
forth, though neither of them ask overly probing questions. Dorcas and Pandora bicker in
front of the TV while flipping through Netflix’s options, and Barty watches James with
narrowed eyes from where he rests his cheek on Evan’s thigh. His arms are crossed over his
chest, but the rest of him is spread out across the sofa.

Regulus would give anything to know what’s going on inside his head. He has the exact same
expression he usually wears when he’s debating whether to get up to no good or behave.

Eventually, Marlene declares dinner finished and calls them into the kitchen. There’s no
dining table since Barty wanted a larger sofa instead, so the eight of them gather around the
kitchen island or take up various positions on the counters.

“This is delicious,” James tells Marlene, his plate already half-inhaled by the time they’re all
settled. “Seriously, what’s your secret? I love to cook, if you’re willing to share the recipe.”

“Mum is Thai.” She hops up on the counter with her own plate and grins proudly. “I can’t
speak the language for shit, but I can cook the cuisine. It’s Reggie’s favorite.”
“Really?”

“Mhm. Made it for them once and now they never stop asking. But we rotate who cooks and
who orders takeaway every week. Keeps it even. And interesting.” Marlene pulls a leg to her
chest to balance her plate on her knee. It’s perilous, but she twirls noodles on her fork with
ease.

Two subtle lines form between James’ brows. He looks quizzically to Regulus, but before he
can ask the question forming behind his eyes, Dorcas pipes up, “So, James. Tell us what you
do for work. Regulus said you’re a CEO, but that could mean many things.”

Regulus leans his elbows on the island, happy to eat while he listens to James field his
friends’ questions. Barty and Evan bracket him on either side, while Lily and Pandora sit on
the counter behind him. Their heels hit the cabinets in a steady rhythm. James leans against
the counter opposite them; he’s close to Marlene and Dorcas, who watch him with curious
stares.

“Honestly? I just do a lot of entrepreneurial and philanthropic bullshit. My dad built the
company twenty years ago, and I inherited it when he got too old. My parents didn’t have me
when they were young. Ma was thirty-seven, I think. She and my dad are in their mid-sixties
now, so Pa put me in charge.”

“What does your company do? Or sell?” asks Evan.

“Investment, mostly. In small businesses and startups. In stocks. Pa wants to try real estate,
but I told him there isn’t much return in that. It’s the one thing we butt heads over.” He smiles
fondly, twirling noodles on his fork. “But all our money is separate now, so I spend mine on
fast cars and a very spoiled stripper, and he spends his on farmland in Mexico and Ma.”

Regulus stills with his fork halfway to his mouth. “I am not spoiled,” he argues, only for all
of his friends to burst out laughing. “What? I’m not!”

“Sure you’re not, Mr. Milan,” teases Marlene. “Where will you go next, I wonder… The
Swiss Alps? Barcelona? Maybe a weekend in the Parisian countryside? Don’t forget us when
you’re rolling naked in all of your riches.”

“I hate you all.” He points his fork at James. “You’re not safe from that, by the way.”

James winks at him but doesn’t bother to bite back his smile.

“What do you like to do for fun?” asks Lily. “Do you have any hobbies? Do you like sports?
What about books? I hope you read, because Reggie loves reading. Do you have a favorite
book or—”

“Jesus, Lils,” Regulus says, throwing her an exasperated look over his shoulder. “This isn’t
an interrogation.”

“Uh, yes, it is,” she retorts haughtily. “We still need to make sure he isn’t a weirdo, liar, or ax
murderer.”
“Bit of a jump there, don’t you think?”

James pushes off the counter to get himself a second helping. “I have friends,” he says, piling
noodles on his plate before he settles back in his spot. “You can all meet them someday.
They’re great. And I like sports. I played a bit of rugby during secondary school. Boxed a
little in uni, but it wasn’t serious. I read. I like films. Concerts are fun.”

“All good things,” Evan says with an approving nod. “I think we’re safe, Lils. He doesn’t
give me ax murderer vibes.”

“That’s a relief.” James grins crookedly before turning to his noodles.

It goes like this for a while. Regulus’ friends are full of questions even he didn’t think to ask
James. They ask about his favorite colors and why, the worst places he’s ever vacationed, and
his opinion on the King. Not a fan, he says easily, and all of Regulus’ friends nod
approvingly, as if this is the most serious question of them all.

The conversation lulls once they’re all stuffed full of Pad Thai. Regulus offers to help Dorcas
with the dishes so Marlene can help Pandora pick out a film, and Lily shoos everyone out of
the kitchen so she make a charcuterie board for them to munch on while they watch tonight’s
movie. Except for Barty and James, the rest of Regulus’ friends escape into the living room.

“Here, Jamie,” Barty says, holding out a cold beer for James. “Can I call you Jamie?”

James takes the bottle with an easy smile. “You can call me whatever you want.”

Barty blinks, startled. He doesn’t move even when James crowds close to him to set the rim
of the bottle against the counter. He slams the heel of his palm down to pop the cap, which
earns him an appreciative whistle. “Neat trick,” Barty says.

“A friend taught it to me during uni. I partied a little.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. Almost got me in trouble a few times.”

At Dorcas’ insistence that she’s fine, Regulus slips out of the kitchen to join Evan where he
sits on a stool by the high counter. It overlooks where Lily furiously prepares her charcuterie
board, which includes her infamous chocolate-covered strawberries. Regulus barely escapes
her wicked slap but still manages to snag one.

“What kind of trouble?” asks Barty skeptically.

“All sorts,” James replies, taking a seat on the barstool next to Regulus. “Almost got myself
kicked out one year.”

“What?” Regulus gapes at him. “You didn’t tell me that!”

James shrugs sheepishly. “You haven’t really asked me much about my uni days, so it hasn’t
come up.”
“Okay, but I definitely want to know what you did to get kicked out.”

“No, no. I almost got kicked out. But I was very charming and managed to convince them to
let me stay.” He smiles, and Regulus knows without needing to ask that it’s the exact one he
used on his professors to get himself out of trouble. “Can I have a bite?”

Regulus shakes his head. “No. Get your own, troublemaker. But good luck. Lily has a wicked
backhand.”

James hooks a hand behind Regulus’ knee to pull him to the edge of his seat. He leans over to
nuzzle behind Regulus’ ear and says in a low voice, “Wasn’t talking about the strawberry.”

“Alcohol makes you very flirty,” Regulus whispers, pushing at his chest.

“Among other things. C’mere.”

Feigning reluctance, Regulus slides off his stool and climbs into James’ lap. “You smell like
beer.” He wrinkles his nose when James breathes in his face intentionally. “Blegh. Tequila is
better. Whiskey is best.”

James snorts a laugh. “Sorry, love. I’ll remember that for next time.”

“You ever been high before?” asks Barty suddenly, his expression still skeptical. He manages
to snatch his own chocolate-covered strawberry, but doesn’t escape Lily’s well-placed punch
to his bicep. “Ouch, Evans.”

“Paws off, Crouch,” she says, pointing a knife at him.

He sulks where he leans against the counter, but his sharp eyes settle on James again. “Well,
Jamie? Have you?”

James keeps a thumb hooked through one of Regulus’ belt loops, tugging every so often. “I
have, yeah,” he admits slowly. “Why?”

“Just wondering. You don’t seem like the type to smoke weed. You’re too…pretty.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m just saying—you don’t seem the type.”

Evan sighs next to Regulus. “He’s goading you. It’s what he does. You can ignore him.”

“It’s only a simple observation,” Barty argues petulantly.

Regulus expects James to heed Evan’s advice, if only because they’re all full of food and
ready to wind down for the evening. Pandora sounds like she’s close to deciding between
three movies, and Lily is nearly finished with her charcuterie board.

So it surprises him when James says, “I’ll prove it to you, if you want me to.”
This piques Barty’s interest, and his dark eyes light up with mischief. “Oh? I didn’t mean it as
a challenge, but I won’t say no, either.”

“You know what? Fuck it. I’ll get high with you.” James tugs on Regulus’ belt loop and
drops his voice to add, “Unless you don’t want me to.”

“It’s fine,” Regulus assures him. “Actually, count me in, too.”

“And me!” Pandora pipes up from the living room. “Barty always has the good stuff.”

Regulus sits back on his stool and swivels to rest his elbows behind him on the high counter.
He kicks his foot out to poke at James’ ass when he stands. “Know any tricks?”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. Just make Barty eat his words.”

James’ smile brightens, and he drops a quick kiss to Regulus’ forehead before sitting on the
sofa. Barty drops a small baggie full of weed on the coffee table, and he sets another baggie
down with rolling papers.

“Go on, then. Show me what you’re made of,” he taunts, leaning back with his arms crossed.

“You’re up to something, aren’t you?” whispers Evan out of the corner of his mouth. When
Regulus turns to him with a smile, he laughs. “Yeah, I knew it. I hope James at least gives us
a good show.”

Regulus is loath to admit the sight of James expertly rolling a joint in the middle of his best
friends’ flat is one of the most attractive things he’s seen him do. It’s in the top five, at least.
His shoulders are relaxed, his expression neutral but focused. He’s unconcerned with the
heavy weight of Barty’s curious gaze.

When he’s finished rolling, he runs his tongue along the edge of the paper to wet the glue,
then seals it with his finger. He smiles proudly and holds it up to Barty with an arched brow.
“Well?”

“Now you smoke it.” Barty passes him a lighter.

“I’ve got a trick I can show you,” James says easily, setting the end of the joint between his
lips. “If you’re not too scared.”

“Scared of what?”

James nods to the space between his spread legs and flicks the lighter. “You should probably
kneel for this. It’ll be easier.”

“For what?”

“Just do it.”
“You want me on my knees that bad, Potter?”

“You’re not complaining, Crouch.” James smiles around the joint between his teeth, flame
flickering close to the end of it. “Or are you really scared of a simple little trick?”

Barty narrows his eyes and looks to Regulus. “What is he planning?”

“Hell if I know,” he replies with an easy shrug.

“Why won’t you just smoke the damn—”

“We can’t have fun if you keep talking.” James lights the joint, and Regulus has to bite the
inside of his cheeks to hold in his laughter when Barty’s mouth snaps shut with an audible
click. Even Evan has to cover his laugh with a cough.

The whole room holds its breath when Barty slowly kneels between James’ legs. He watches
James like a hawk, his expression still skeptical. James inhales smoke deep into his lungs,
then holds the joint away from him. With his other hand, he reaches out to curl his fingers
under Barty’s chin.

“No way,” Evan whispers, and Regulus would voice his mutual surprise if he wasn’t so
caught up in the scene unfolding in front of him.

James’ grip on Barty’s chin is rough. It’s not exactly nice, and it forces Barty’s lips to part.
His eyes are wild, flicking back and forth between James’. He lets himself be tugged forward,
lets James tilt his head. “Shit,” he breathes when James’ lips ghost over his.

The room is silent except for a Netflix preview that loops on the TV. Regulus and all of his
friends watch thick smoke drift from James’ mouth into Barty’s. It swirls in the hair’s breadth
of space between them until Barty’s inhaled all of it in. His eyes are wide, caught in James’
stare, and he makes a soft, surprised little noise.

Without warning, James flicks his tongue out to catch Barty’s top lip. His grin is devastating
when he whispers, “Perdiste.”

Regulus nearly falls off the barstool and melts into a puddle on the floor. The girls erupt into
a chorus of excited wolf whistles, shouting, “Again! Again! Do it again!”

James gives Barty’s head a small shake, his smile turning cheeky and almost warm. “Believe
me now?”

“Give him a second. He’s still catching up. Shit, so am I,” Evan says in a pained voice. A
sidelong glance tells Regulus that Evan is in the same position he is—desperately trying to
hide the slight bulge in his jeans.

Barty is on his feet a second later. He wobbles, blinks furiously, and points an accusing finger
at Regulus, then at James. “You two are fucking with me, aren’t you? There’s no way—You
have to be fucking with me. Because what the bloody hell was that?”

“I can’t believe you’d think so little of us,” Regulus replies airily, waving a dismissive hand.
“Bullshit. Don’t gaslight me!” Barty stomps into the kitchen to grab himself another beer,
scowling at James who laughs on the sofa, the joint back between his lips. He blows smoke
from the sides of his mouth, his eyes already a bit glassy.

“Baby,” he says slowly, drawing out the vowels. “C’mere.”

Regulus slides off his stool and crosses the short distance to slip into James’ lap. “Do me
next,” he says, nodding to the joint. “But better.”

James’ answering chuckle comes from deep in his chest, but he does as Regulus asks of him.
He plucks the joint from his lips and pulls Regulus to him with a hand in his curls, smiling in
a lopsided, drug-laced way Regulus has never seen before.

The kiss isn’t quite a kiss, but rather tongues meeting between open mouths. They curl
around each other, and Regulus is dizzy from this alone. Even before the smoke slips into his
mouth and he inhales it into his lungs, he feels higher than he’s ever been. He holds James’
gaze as he exhales, smiling slowly to match James’ broad grin.

“Whoa,” he says, warm from head to toe.

“Fun, isn’t it?”

“Gimme that,” Pandora says, snatching the joint from James’ fingertips. “Me and Lily need
to try. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Lily! I hope you’re finished with that
charcuterie board!”

James leans forward to loop his arms around Regulus’ waist. “I’m so fucking high,” he
mumbles nonsensically, kissing Regulus, whose lips are already a bit fuzzy.

“I can see that.”

“It’s good stuff. Strong. Strong stuff.” James buries his face in Regulus’ neck and inhales
deep. “God, you smell good. Do you always smell like this?”

“Yes.”

“Brilliant.” He tugs Regulus forward until they’re chest to chest, then turns their bodies so
Regulus is underneath him. They kiss slow, unhurried. “Mm. This is nice. I’m—”

“Oi!” Evan shouts, tossing a pillow directly at James’ head. “No fucking on the sofa.”

Regulus blinks through the haze steadily clouding his mind. “So we can fuck…not on the
sofa?”

“No.”

“But you said—”

“No.”
James’ face wrinkles with confusion. “Wait—No what?”

“Oh, my God,” Evan says with an exasperated sigh. “Pandora, give me that. I can’t deal with
high people unless I’m also high. It makes my brain hurt.”

They pass the joint around until Lily sets her charcuterie board on the coffee table. She drops
beside Pandora on the floor and holds out a hand to take the joint from Evan. James has
maneuvered himself behind Regulus so they’re cuddled on the sofa, his hand splayed over
Regulus’ abdomen underneath his jumper.

“So warm,” James murmurs, burying his nose in Regulus’ curls. “Gonna stay here forever.”

“Fucking hope not,” says Evan. “This flat isn’t big enough for four people to be living in it.”

Lily eventually chooses The Proposal, saying, “We’re all high enough that this is about to be
the funniest thing we’ve ever watched.”

She’s not wrong. Regulus laughs until his stomach hurts and there are tears in his eyes.
Behind him, James pushes up to rest his cheek on his fist. His lips graze Regulus’ shoulder
every so often, and his hand doesn’t stray from where it rests beneath Regulus’ jumper.

The living room is thick with laughter, and Regulus smiles so wide his cheeks hurt for hours.

The moon is high in the sky when Regulus slips one of James’ thin shirts over his head. It’s
too big, and the hem falls to mid-thigh, but it’s incredibly soft. Water drips from his curls
onto his shoulders and darkens the moss green fabric. He sifts through his drawer in James’
dresser to find a new pair of briefs, then checks his reflection in the full length mirror in
James’ walk in closet.

His neck is a mess of bruises and bites. Some will fade by the morning, but he’ll have to
cover up the rest before work. Despite this, he smirks at the sight of them.

It’s been a few hours since they came home. They stumbled through the front door attached
by their mouths, tugging at shirts and buttons and zippers and everything in the way of skin
on skin. Regulus spent the entire drive home with his lips on James’ ear and the heel of his
hand pressed against the growing bulge in James’ jeans.

His high wore off well before they left Evan and Barty’s flat, but there was still a little
something left over in Regulus to buoy him. It made him lighter, more daring, and he
murmured every filthy thing he could think of in James’ ear.

The filthier he got, the more James growled low under his breath. Cut it out, Princess, he said
with his hand gripping Regulus’ jaw. They were at a stoplight, the red glow illuminating one
half of James’ face. His eyes were wild, the irises swallowed by depthless black pupils. Cut it
out, or I’ll pull this car over and fuck you right here.
But the light turned green, and Regulus went back to taunting him.

Once they were through the front door, they barely made it to the couch before James had
two fingers in Regulus’ mouth—get filthy with it, baby—and his heavy, full cock in his hand.
It was wild sex, rough and greedy and bruising, and Regulus laughed, giddier than he’s ever
been, when thin lines of red bloomed on James’ back from his nails.

When they were finished and James stood under the shower stream with a pained expression,
Regulus grinned with all of his teeth.

“Sadist,” James had muttered, though he mirrored Regulus’ smile. He rolled his shoulders
and hissed. “Christ, love, it feels like you shredded my back to ribbons.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not. And it’s fine. I like it.”

Regulus had snickered and said, “Masochist,” to which James merely replied with a wink.

Now, he pads softly down the hall and into the living room. James sits on the sofa in nothing
but his briefs and a pair of cartoon Spider-Man socks, his arms stretched over the back
cushions and one leg bent to tuck his foot underneath him. He lolls his head to the side when
Regulus walks in.

“Hi, baby. How was the rest of your shower?”

“Good. It stayed hot this time.”

“It’s a miracle what happens when you don’t stay in there for twenty years.”

He flips James his middle finger before shuffling into the kitchen. “What are you watching?”
he asks, turning the tap to pour water in a glass.

“House of the Dragon.”

“Team Black or Green?”

James sucks his teeth, then says, “Black.”

“Good answer. You won’t have to sleep on the couch tonight.” Regulus nearly spits out his
water when James whirls around, mouth hanging open and eyes wide.

“This is my flat!”

“I have to draw the line somewhere.”

“What if I had said Team Green? I don’t hate Alicent. She’s just making the best out of a bad
situation. Otto sucks, though.”

Regulus looks pointedly at the sofa.

“Unbelievable. You’re such a brat.”

“I am what you made me.”

James scoffs, rolls his eyes, and turns back to his show with an exaggerated huff.

“I feel like you should be partial to Team Black anyway, considering my name and all,”
Regulus quips. He refills his glass and heads into the living room. Gently, he nudges James’
leg out of the way so he can sit down between the sofa and coffee table in front of him.

The Lego set is only half-finished. He reaches for the next packet and rips it open with his
teeth while the end of the episode plays on TV. James’ left leg presses against his arm. It isn’t
enough to restrict his movement, but it lets him know James is there while they sit in easy
silence. Regulus manages to finish one packet before the credits roll. He’s reaching for
another when James clears his throat.

“Reg, love, can I—Uh, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.” He rips open the second packet and pours its contents out on the table. “What’s up?”

“Tonight… With your friends? I—I noticed something. It’s small, but I wanted to ask you
about it… But if you’re not comfortable, then that’s completely fine.”

Regulus’ stomach flips, but he says, “Spit it out. I won’t know what it is unless you ask.”

“I, uh… It confused me at first, because I wasn’t sure what they meant, but I noticed your
friends use different pronouns than I do when they talk about you. I didn’t think anything of
it, but they kept doing it and I realized and… I guess I just want to make sure I’m not doing
anything wrong. Is this coming out right? I feel like it’s not and—”

“James, it’s fine. We can talk about it. I’ve been meaning to mention it, but…” He trails off,
focused narrowed to the countless pieces spread out in front of him, the half-finished building
still missing windows. His heart beats an unsteady rhythm, but the press of James’ leg
grounds him. He has no idea where to start, so he asks, “Do you have a label? On what you
are, I mean.”

“Not really.” James runs his fingers through Regulus’ damp curls, almost as though he’s
brushing them. “I’ve slept with men and women. Dated both, too. I’m not picky. Well, I’m
picky. Just not when it comes to what’s between a person’s legs.”

“That’s good.” Regulus fiddles with two pieces before clicking them together. “Did you
always know?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know. It’s not like I woke up one day and thought, ‘You know what? Today
is the day I suck dick for the first time.’”

“Actually, I feel like that sort of tracks for you.” James flicks him, and Regulus giggles. It
eases some of the tightness that’s built up in his chest.
“I’m serious! It just…happened. I think I—Shit, how did it happen?” James blows air past his
lips, then says, “Oh, right. Some guy at a party. I think I was fifteen? Anyway, we kissed on a
dare, but I liked it. He liked it. We kept kissing… Didn’t think much about it after that. I just
kissed whoever I wanted.”

“Did they fall all over themselves for a chance to kiss the James Potter?” teases Regulus,
snickering when James flicks him again.

“Not all of them,” he says. “Just most of them.”

Regulus makes a gagging noise and James laughs, but their humor dwindles after a moment.

“I figured it out pretty late,” Regulus admits quietly. “Well, I accepted it late. I grew up in a
house that wasn’t safe. My parents would’ve never accepted me, so I hid it from them. From
myself, too. They still don’t accept me, but I’m out of there now, so it is what it is.”

“They shouldn’t have made you feel that way. It’s fucked up.”

Regulus hums his agreement. “I dated a few girls to keep their suspicions down, but it felt
like I was trying on a pair of pants two sizes too small. I kissed a boy for the first time when I
was seventeen and that’s when I thought, ‘Yeah, this is it.’ But I couldn’t have him in the
open, so it didn’t last.”

James winds one of Regulus’ curls around his finger. “They know now, though. When did
you tell them?”

“I didn’t. Maman came home early and caught me and a friend making out in my room.”
Regulus shudders at the memory. It took almost two weeks for the bruises his father gave him
to heal. “I ran away shortly after, so I guess it doesn’t matter in the end. But once I was on
my own, I didn’t have to force myself into a box that felt right for other people for the first
time in my life.”

“What about your brother? Did he know?”

“He had it a little easier. Sirius could do both, so I think he was able to hide the one side
better. I couldn’t.”

“That’s okay,” James says, winding another curl around his finger. “I think everyone has a
preference. Some more than others. Hell, even I have a preference.”

“You do?”

“Mhm. You.”

Regulus shoves his leg, laughing despite himself. “Shut up. Don’t be cheesy when I’m being
serious!”

“Sorry, love. Just wanted to hear you laugh a bit.” James drops a kiss into his hair, then settles
back against the couch. “Keep going. I’m listening.”
“Anyway, the point is it’s not like I was openly gay the second I was free of them. It took me
a little while to come out.” Regulus reaches for a few more pieces to start the next step. He
organizes them meticulously; the repetitive motion steadies his racing heart. Vulnerability has
never been his strength, but he continues, “So to answer your question about the pronouns—
that’s new. Or relatively recent, I guess.”

A stone sits in his throat, heavy and difficult to swallow around. James’ fingers brush through
his curls again. On the TV, Netflix sits waiting for one of them to start the next episode. The
room is silent except for the steady thrum of his pulse in his ears.

“My parents dictated my whole life from the moment I was born. Because of that, even after
all this time on my own, I’m still figuring out who I am. Who I want to be.”

It’s strange how easy the words come now that he’s saying them, like the floodgates have
opened. Not because he’s comfortable letting all of this out, but because the warmth of
James’ leg against his arm and the continued brush of fingers through his hair makes him
feel…centered. It feels good to answer honestly, to lay the whole truth out, even if he himself
isn’t sure exactly what shape that truth is meant to take.

“When I started stripping, I remember thinking, ‘I’m going to suck at this because I’m not
big and muscular like those guys in the strip shows.’ You know, the ones who kinda look like
you?”

James chuckles softly. “You’re flattering me.”

“Just wanted to hear you laugh.” This earns him a gentle tug on his hair. “What I do is very
different from that. It took me a little while to find my style, but I combined it with the ballet
I learned as a kid, took some pole classes… I realized the style I felt most comfortable with
was more feminine. I started to feel like I can be masculine off stage, but on stage, I can be
something else.”

“For what it’s worth, you do both really fucking well,” James says. “It’s what drew me to
you. I walked in and you were just so—so confident up there. Like you were daring anyone
to try and deny you’re beautiful. And I remember the first time I saw you walk out of the
back rooms in your Docs. You were dressed like you were tonight, and I was a goner. That
moment is definitely imprinted on my brain. Forever.”

Regulus leans his cheek on James’ knee, fighting a smile. “You had it that bad, huh?”

“I wanted to call you pretty and handsome and beautiful all at the same fucking time,” James
admits with a laugh. “My head got really cloudy trying to process it.”

“Maybe it was the whiskey.”

“No. Trust me, it was you.”

Regulus fights the urge to get up and crawl in James’ lap. He needs to get this all out first
while he still has the courage and momentum. “Me and Sirius have always had androgynous
features, so I think I just started leaning into that more after I started stripping. Masculinity,
femininity—I realized I can do both, and there are no boxes I have to exist in.”

James leans forward to rest his arms on Regulus’ shoulders and his chin on top of Regulus’
head. His breathing is slow and steady. He fiddles with the pieces forgotten in Regulus’
hands.

“I’m still not publicly comfortable with it, though. It feels a little like when I first got out of
my parents’ house. I’m working on it in stages. I have to understand it myself first. But I told
my friends, and that’s why they mix up how they refer to me. Pandora coined it ‘gender baby
steps.’ With them, I feel safe to do that. I can be me, no matter what that looks like on any
given day.”

“Do you have a preference?” asks James.

“Not really. Not yet. I like both right now. I still use ‘he’ to refer to myself, but I prefer ‘they’
with other people. It’s like… No one else can put me in a box. Only I can, if I want to—or
not. I get to decide. I don’t really know what to call it yet. Lily thinks ‘genderfluid’ might be
the best way to describe it, so I’ve been going with that. Not sure yet, though.”

James hums, lips pressed into his curls so he feels the vibration. “Then I’ll use ‘they’ like
your friends, but you tell me if that changes. Okay? You can try out whatever you want with
me. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. Just let me know. If you don’t like something, or if you want to try something
different…”

A different kind of stone lodges in Regulus’ throat this time. He swallows around it the best
he can and whispers, “Thank you.” A hand curls under his jaw to tilt his head back, and he
looks up into earnest eyes.

“Thank you for telling me. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”

“It wasn’t as terrifying as I hyped it up to be.”

“Good.”

Regulus smiles when James kisses him. It’s upside-down, and the angle is slightly awkward,
but he doesn’t mind. When he pulls away, James asks, “Are you tired, or can we watch
another episode? There are only a few more.”

“I can do another. I want to finish one more packet before we go to bed.”

“Perfect. Oh, did you know the person who plays Rhaenyra is nonbinary? I found that out the
other day.”

“Yeah, I follow them on Instagram,” Regulus says, and James scoffs.

 “You don’t follow me on Instagram.”

“That’s because you post one picture every ten years. It’s a miracle you have followers at all.
Play the episode.”

“Follow me on Instagram.”

Regulus elbows James’ leg. “Episode. Now.”

“I’m going. The remote fell between the cushions. Wait one bloody second.” Under his
breath, he mumbles, “Brat.” He continues to grumble while he searches, but he must find it
because eventually the opening credits of the next episode roll. He tangles his fingers in
Regulus’ curls again, resting comfortably behind him on the sofa.

Something cracks open inside Regulus as he replays their conversation while piecing the
Lego set together. He doesn’t pay much attention to the show; he watched it months ago with
the girls. Instead, he thinks of their night, of how James laughed with his friends and teased
Barty so easily and cuddled with him on the couch without a care for who saw. He thinks of
you can try whatever you want with me, and trust me, it was you.

It’s terrifying, really, to acknowledge it.

But he has to when he’s sat between James’ legs in the middle of a living room he’s more
comfortable in than his own. When he’s practically living in a flat he doesn’t pay for with a
man who only ever tells him to stay another night, and another, and one more, baby, please
don’t go back to yours yet.

Because there is no danger of possibility that he’ll fall in love with James.

The terrifying truth is that he already is.

Chapter End Notes

one of my favorite things about Regulus in this story is how personal his journey feels. i
think sometimes even queer people forget that our identities are like us as humans in
general — constantly evolving, shifting, adapting. we learn something new about
ourselves every single day. some of us are lucky enough to make discoveries early,
while others don't make these discoveries until we're much older and in safe spaces that
give us an opportunity to grow.

Regulus is someone who grew up in a household that stifled him, and it unfortunately
created a lot of internalized homophobia that he had to work through. and now that he's
in a better place, he's finding out more things about himself. he's realizing he might be
genderfluid, maybe non-binary, but he's figuring out exactly where those parameters lie
for him. there's no "correct" way to GenderTM. there's what feels right and comfortable
for the person who's living that experience.
i also don't plan to write Regulus as experiencing gender dysphoria. if anything, he's
gender euphoric (hence the tags). he's not uncomfortable in his skin as it is, but rather
he's also comfortable with other things. and these are things he never gave himself a
chance to explore but can now that he's older and in a safer environment.

a few have asked about this, but Regulus will continue to use he/him pronouns, since
this is his POV. but those close to him will use they/them. also, we get some of him
exploring gender expression and having fun with it now that he's been open with James.
this Regulus is very important to me as someone still working through their own
identity/expression, so the scene with him and James in this chapter was very cathartic
for a whole host of personal reasons.

look! no angst still! i'm being so nice to y'all!

End Notes

spotify playlists: main | reg's stage | milan

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